


Patterns of Protection

by DebraHicks



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebraHicks/pseuds/DebraHicks
Summary: A bust goes wrong, leaving Peter injured.  He is non-verbal due to the injury.  Or so the others think.  Then it begins to seem that maybe this Peter is not their Peter.  So who is this?  And where is their Peter?
Relationships: Ray Stantz/Peter Venkman
Kudos: 2





	Patterns of Protection

Ray climbed gingerly out of the old ambulance. His head was starting to hurt and the only thing he could think about was getting a shower and going to bed. Behind him the backseat door slammed with startling force. He didn't turn, didn't need to see the anger in Peter's emerald green eyes. Walking forward slowly, he saw Janine come to her feet in concern. It was hard to miss the hasty bandage layered over the cut just at his hairline.

"Oh, my..." She came around the desk, stood in front of him. "Are you okay, Ray?"

Ray wasn't sure if her voice were more shrill because of worry or if it were just his head. "The doctor said it was nothing serious," he assured her quickly. "I'm okay."

"Which is more than he has a right to be," Peter said harshly.

His tone and words startled Janine. Ray saw her cast a quick glance over his shoulder, searching for Egon to explain what was going on. Ray started passed Janine, still intent on reaching the stairs.

"Ray broke an engagement to help me..."

"Ray did something stupid and it nearly got him killed." Peter cut Egon off, slamming the door of his locker with as much force as he had used on the helpless Ecto.

Ray spun, ignoring the pain his move caused. He knew that Peter's hard words were caused by fear, just as he knew the anger surging through his own nerves was an aftereffect of the injury and adrenaline. He knew all of that, but it didn't help. With as much force as Peter had exhibited, Ray slammed his open palm against Ecto's hood.

"It was a perfectly good move!" Ray said tightly. "You're the one that warned me Egon was in trouble."

"Wrong!" Peter moved close, poking him with his finger. "I yelled for Winston to cover Egon."

Ray refused to back away under the hot anger coming off his friend, could feel it fanning his own emotions higher. "Winston was too far away! By the time he could have gotten in position the ghost would have zapped Egon."

Peter ignored his statement completely. "You were grandstanding, Stantz and you know it!"

A surge of understanding flashed through Ray's mind. "And you were careless! You're mad because it was your shot that brought the chandelier down on me."

The instant he said it, regretted flashed through Ray. "Peter, I didn't mean..."

Peter paled, making the green eyes darken even more. But the anger didn't fade. Through clenched teeth, Peter said, "The next time you want to play John Wayne make sure you're competent enough to pull it off."

The remark stung, stabbing at the Ray's pride and fear of not being good enough to be a part of the famous team. He started to argue but the others, silent until now in the face of the shocking argument, reacted.

"Peter!" Egon stepped forward and grabbed Peter by the arms, jerking him away.

Winston wrapped his arm around Ray's shoulders. "Come on, homeboy, let's get you to bed. You'll feel a lot better when you've had some sleep."

He started to resist but Winston's strong arm wouldn't let him and he found himself turned and ushered up the stairs. As he neared the top, he waited for his anger to fade, as it usually did. It was an emotion he had never been familiar with. Instead, he found himself thinking through what had happened, and getting angry again.

"He's always doing that," he said through clenched teeth.

"What?" Winston said vaguely, helping him to sit down.

"Peter is always underestimating what I can do. I don't need protecting!"

Winston knelt in front of him, started unlacing his boots. At Ray's final outburst, he looked up, meeting Ray's eyes. Sympathy colored the chocolate eyes. "I know you don't, Ray. And Peter knows too. He's just been on the edge lately, what with Egon disappearing, then me and Dad getting sucked into that other dimension. Tomorrow tell him what you just told me."

With a sigh, Ray nodded. This time the anger did fade, leaving only weariness. His head had started pounding again. "Yeah, you're right, Winston." He smiled a little. "Things always do seem better after a good night’s sleep."

* * * * * * 

The emergency phone line to police headquarters went off at a little after 2:00am. Peter rolled over, cursing groggily. Across the room he heard Egon pick up the receiver as Winston and Ray came awake with deep sighs. He waited, holding his breath, hoping tiredly that it would be a false alarm, that he would hear the magic words "in the morning" from Egon. It was a false hope.

"Yes," Egon said curtly. "We'll be right there. Have your men seal off the building. No one is to be allowed inside."

Peter sat up. Egon was in commanding scientist mode, which usually meant major trouble. The others recognized it also. Ray turned on his light and stared across the dim room at Egon. The argument of only a few hours before came back to Peter, bringing with it guilt and sorrow. He sat up, his movement catching Ray's attention. The amber eyes met his. Tentatively, he smiled, trying to let Ray know that everything would be okay; they just needed a chance to talk. To his relief, Ray smiled hesitantly back at him.

The phone clicked down. Egon flicked on the light and scrambled up, talking as he moved. "Police report bright lights, strange noises and two missing curators at the Bennett Museum."

"The Bennett?" Ray started dressing. "That's a modern art museum. What could they have that would cause a manifestation?"

Winston slapped him on the back as he passed toward the bathroom. "Too early to guess," he said with a yawn. "We'll find out when we get there."

* * * * * *

"Tell me this isn't as bad as it looks," Peter prompted as they climbed out of Ecto.

No one answered him; Egon was too busy studying his PKE meter; Ray was staring at the museum and Winston was checking the charge on his thrower. It was easy to see what everyone was doing, the light spilling from the burst front doors brightened the whole block, overpowering the flashing red and blue from the multitude of emergency vehicles. The light was so bright that it seemed to make the solid walls glow. Peter reminded himself a little bright light wasn't necessarily the sign of something earth threatening.

"This is very bad," Egon said quietly.

Peter always hated Egon's calm way of announcing the end of the world. Before he could ask how bad bad was, Ray stepped back to them, holding out his own meter for Egon's examination.

"It's not an entity," the occultist said.

Egon nodded, confirming. "It would appear to be a dimensional portal or rip."

"What would cause that?" Winston ventured.

"That's what we have to ascertain," Egon explained.

"Some entity could have caused it then moved on," Ray suggested.

"You mean," Peter asked for clarification, "something like Tolay came over and left the door open?"

"Exactly," Egon agreed. "Our priority is to..."

The building groaned, the walls swelling out and back in like some breathing giant. The sidewalk, already split and cracked, shuddered and smoked.

"We have to seal the rip," Ray raised his voice to be heard over the grinding of concrete and startled yells of the onlookers and police.

"I'll bet we have to go in to that, don't we?" Peter speculated.

Winston suddenly appeared in front of him, goggles in hand. "What do you think, homeboy?"  
Egon started forward, sliding his eye protection down over his glasses. "When we find the breach we should be able to seal it by changing the frequency of two packs."

Stepping over the shattered door, they disappeared inside accompanied by shouts of encouragement from the surrounding crowds. Peter smiled. Only in New York could a crisis raise a crowd at 3:00am. The closing doors killed his trivial thoughts. It was time for business.

"We hit it with two packs set to the frequency of the rip," Ray elaborated, making sure he and Egon understood each other. "The other two we leave set to PKE normal to this dimension."

It was hard to see in the overwhelming glare but following close behind, Peter barely made out Egon's nod. "Correct, the result should be similar to welding two pieces of metal."

Dodging broken objects de art and fallen paintings that littered the entrance hall, they moved cautiously on. At the end of the hall, Egon signaled for a halt, holding out his meter. He moved left, stepping over a pile of metal. 

Peter paused. "Do you suppose it looked that way before the accident?"

He went after his teammates, and the building shifted. Staggering sideways, Peter slammed face first into the wall, hitting hard enough to take his breath. Before he could gain his balance, the floor tilted again, throwing him in the other direction. He braced for the blow, was surprised to hit something soft instead. 

Strong hands righted him and he looked over his shoulder at Winston. "Thanks, bro."

"Hurry!" Ray urged from just ahead of them. "The building will become more and more unstable."

Breathing hard, Peter asked, "How much further?"

Egon, in the lead and standing near the stairs, yelled back, "Not far. Readings indicate down, the basement."  
Two turns later they came to an alcove with a single freight elevator to their left and a door that opened onto a set of wide stairs. Sliding passed Ray, Peter took up a position next to Egon. Egon started down but Peter stopped him.

"We go down one at a time," he said firmly. "If another tremor hits we don't want to all be on the stairs when it hits."

"Good idea," Winston agreed.

Egon nodded. "I suggest we set our packs now. Ray, 12.758 on the oscillation." He looked up at the team, the combination of glasses and goggles giving him a fish-eyed look. "We have to hit the breach at the same time."

Peter threw the door open and without thinking about it, sprinted down the concrete stairs. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he heard Ray pounding down. Egon came next. An ominous subliminal rumbled seemed to be starting somewhere. Peter looked up, waiting for Winston. There was a nerve racking pause.

“Winston was going to send the elevator down," Ray offered. "In case we need it."

With a smile, Peter said, "Homeboy's always thinking."

Winston started down the stairs, and the rumble became physical. A rolling wave went through the room, raising the floor, cracking the wall and bringing down pieces of the ceiling. Winston grabbed the railing, hanging on as the stairs tried to separate from the wall. For a fearful minute, Peter thought the whole structure would collapse under his friend but the pitching stopped, allowing Winston to stagger down. But fate was being fickle, only three steps from the bottom, the second wave, larger than the first shattered the concrete and spilled the newest ghostbuster to the floor.

"Winston!" Ray knelt by his friend.

"Damn," Winston muttered softly. With Ray's help he struggled to his feet. "Let's close that thing and get the hell out of Dodge."

Seeing that he was okay, Peter turned around and got his first good look at the room. It was a combination store room, loading bay and small glass enclosed office. The glass around the 10 by 10 office was shattered, laying in sparkling piles around the walls. One of the metal loading bay doors was crumpled outward as if hit by a bowling ball several times. The other door was gone, replaced by a pulsing square of blue, the middle of which glowed white. Through the white, barely visible, were glimpses of another world. Peter stared, draw by his natural curiosity and repelled by his knowledge of the other dimensions he'd been transported into.

"Power up," Egon ordered.

Peter flicked the switch, listened to the reassuring sound of contained power building. The four of them fanned out, Peter next to Winston, then Ray and Egon. Peter tightened his grip.

"Peter, Winston, aim for the top and drag your section down; Ray and I will take the bottom," Egon instructed. Then almost as an afterthought he added, "When the dimensions close there maybe a final ripple."

Looking at the fluxing rip between dimensions, the hairs on Peter's neck rose in warning. "Define final."

Egon frowned. "Seven to nine times stronger than what we have been experiencing."

"Can this building take that?" Winston wondered, his voice just a little higher than normal.

"The quakes are going to shake it apart soon," Ray said. "The sooner we go for it the better our chances of the building staying up."

There was nothing left to discuss, only time for Egon to shout, "Fire!"

Four beams of pure protons added their color to the blinding blue and white. Through the shake of the thrower Peter could feel the floor start its warning tremble. He ignored it, holding on to the bucking weapon, dragging his beam down in prefect coordination with Winston’s beam. The edge of the gap followed the hold of the beam. The other edge, equally caught by his two companions, started up.

Without warning, the floor dropped, then rose several inches, throwing Peter forward then slamming his knees as he came down. Somehow, through training or instinct, he kept his weapon aimed, kept drawing it down. A quick glance told him that Winston had staggered back several feet, while Ray and Egon had been thrown sideways. Worry touched him, Egon was leaning on the nearest shelves, arm pulled tight against his ribs and face white.

There was no time to worry. The gap began to resist the pull of the opposing forces, like a living thing resisting capture. The building shook harder, deeper, sent waves of sound and fury against them. Peter, still on his knees, and Egon, still against the wall were having a better time of it than Winston and Ray. With nothing to hold them but sheer willpower they staggered around like drunks.

"Increase power," Ray ordered.

Peter thumbed up the power without thinking. Slowly, inches, centimeters at a time the dimensions came together. With only a few streaks of the other world showing through, Peter surged to his feet.

"Everyone grab hold of something solid!" he yelled.

The two sides collided, broke apart, came together - and the building around them started to disintegrate. Peter dodged a piece of falling ceiling. Across from him bricks slammed into the floor around Egon. The floor tilted toward the bay doors. Peter scrambled to keep his feet, overbalanced and fell forward only to slide down the rough concrete toward the doors. More of the ceiling came down and he heard Ray yell. He struggled to his feet, tried to see through the falling plaster and dust. The floor tilted again, backwards, away from the hole and it’s dangers. His relief was short lived as he threw his hand out to catch the wall. Something struck him across the back of the head and the wall under his hand seemed soften. The world vanished into white and blue.

* * * * * * 

"Peter." A light, gentle hand stroked along his cheek. "Come, come, Peter. It's time to wake now."

Ray's voice. He was being held in a half-raised position, something light and warm covering him. His head was pounding, causing a slight nausea. A flex of everything else proved that this was his only injury. 

"Peter."  
There was real worry in the voice now. Peter didn't want Ray to worry; he felt bad enough about the night before. With a strong effort, he forced his eyes open, met familiar amber above him. He glanced around, searching for Egon and Winston, but any questions he had about his friends were forgotten at the sights that met his searching gaze.

He was laying across Ray's lap, an incredible bright blue sky sparkling above them. They were at the bottom of a flight of marble steps that lead up to a large middle eastern style palace. A few people were staring down in concern. The men and women seemed to be an odd mix of ethic groups, everything from fair and blue-eyed, dressed in Japanese silks, to tanned and dark eyed, dressed in Roman robes. Peter straightened, trying to get a better look around.

"Gently, Peter," Ray warned. "That was a bad fall."

Peter snapped his eyes closed, rubbing at his temples. Something jingled and he dropped his hand down to his ear. An ear cuff met his questing fingers, next he found the heavy necklace that encircled his throat. Almost fearfully, he opened his eyes and looked down. He was wrapped in a large wool cloak, lined with green silk and embroidery with gold runes. Under it however, he had only a short, very sheer loincloth and laced knee high sandals. While most people would have never considered Peter Venkman shy, there were limits to what he would and wouldn't wear; loincloths being one of the wouldn'ts.

"Peter?" Ray asked again.

Not trusting himself to speak and not knowing what he would say if he could, Peter settled for nodding. A smile lit Ray's face. Peter stared, studying the other man very closely. All he saw was warm concern in a face as familiar as his own. There was no doubt that it was Ray. That thought made his head spin even more.

"Can you stand?" Ray questioned quietly.

Again Peter opted for a nod. He started to push up only to find himself lifted easily to his feet by his companion. Peter noted that this version of Ray was wearing a knee length green tunic, embroidered at the hem with the same symbols as the cloak. It wasn't hard to put two and two together. He only hoped around here it equaled four. He pulled off the cloak, offered it to the other man.

"No," Ray said firmly. "It will keep the dust off the scarps until we can get home and treat them."

Mind still fuzzy, Peter glanced down at himself. Several large scrapes and the beginnings of bruises marked his legs and arms. Ray took the cloak and lay it over his shoulders, putting his arm over it to hold it in place. With his other hand he took Peter's upper arm and lead him down the yellow dirt street.

* * * * * * 

Peter tried to sit still under the gentle ministrations. The tea he'd been handed tasted awful, the salve Ray was spreading over his cuts burned and, though he would never admit it, he was confused and scared. From half-closed eyes he watched his companion while also checking out the small house he'd been brought to. Ray was behaving like Ray, worrying, fussing. There were small things though that were now noticeable; the different phrasing of his sentences, a darker tan, a thin scar that ran just under his temple. Even more noticeable though was the fact that Peter's silence had yet to bother him. The real Ray would have noticed something was wrong immediately.

He pushed that line of thought aside, turning his attention to the house. From the outside it had appeared a simple adobe, square house styled in a combination Middle Eastern and American Southwestern. The inside had turned out to be cool tiles with almost Japanese type furnishing. Off the main room was a kitchen with an oven and fire grill, and, surprisingly, a hand pump for water. Even more surprising was the bathroom, with a tiled bath that would easily hold two and an Edwardian style chamber pot. It was all as strange a combination as the crowds had been.

"Come along, Peter," Ray ordered. "It's time to see you to bed."

A creeping lethargy was starting to make his vision fuzzy. Staring down at the cup, Peter realized there must have been more in it than tea. A moment of panic touched him and he glanced up at Ray. The other man ignored his silent panic, took his arm and lead him into the only room with a closed door. The bedroom was smaller than the main room, or it may have just appeared that way because of being dominated by a large round bed. Peter took a quick glance around. This was the last room. And there was only one bed. There were implications there, but the drug was making it hard to think.

He was suddenly seated, with Ray kneeling in front of him, taking off his sandals. Retrieving a bowl of water and small cotton rag he’d used earlier, Ray took care of one more cut on Peter’s heel then stood.

"Sleep now, Peter," Ray smiled down at him. "The herb will help the stiffness when you wake." The other man turned away.

"Thank you," Peter responded softly out of habit.

The fragile bowl hit the tiles with a crash, Ray whirling back around. Peter jumped, eyes snapping from the shattered bowl to Ray. The other man was staring at him with a strange combination of terror and wonder. Peter thought he could hear both of their hearts beating in fright.  
“Peter?" He swallowed hard. "You spoke?"

* * * * * * 

Waiting rooms were one of the few things in all the world Ray could say he hated. He had been in a waiting room when some nameless doctor had brought word of his parents death; he'd been a waiting room when his uncle had died. He swallowed hard, rubbed his upper arms, cold despite the inadequate air conditioner. He barely noticed Winston's pacing or Egon's stoic detachment. He did notice when Egon let out a sharp breath as he turned. His own bruises echoed Egon’s discomfort. The buildings collapse has done them all damage; Ray had fared best with only minor bruising; Egon had sever bruising over his ribs and Winston sported a broken right arm. The only good of it was the change of his bandage into a bandaid.

"We should have heard something by now," Winston complained.

"These things take time," Egon said patiently. But under his level tone, Ray could hear the strain.

"I still can't understand how that door could have given way so easily," Winston wondered. He came over and sat down next to Ray. "It was only a short drop, Ray. I'm sure..."

A harried looking intern popped out of the emergency room doors. "Are you the Ghostbusters?" he asked shortly.

Ray came to his feet, standing behind Egon. "Yes," Egon said plainly.

The doctor took a deep breath. "Okay. Dr. Venkman has a mild concussion. I was a little worried over the amount of time he had been unconscious but his CATscan shows up as normal and he started coming around a few minutes ago."

"Does that mean he's going to be okay?" Ray asked softly.

The man actually smiled a little. "Yes, he should be fine. We'll keep him overnight and he shouldn't be left alone for at least 24 hours but I don't expect any complications."

"May we see him?" Egon asked.

The doctor checked the clipboard he'd been carrying, flipped a page up. "Yes, he's been moved to room 504. He's likely to be confused when he wakes up so it would be good to have someone he knows with him."

"He's okay," Ray said softly, not really sure who he was talking to.

A warm hand touched his arm, brought his attention up to Egon. Ray could read the relief in the azure eyes. Behind him he heard Winston take a deep breath. 

"I knew it," Winston said with complete confidence.

Five minutes later they were standing in a dimly lit private room. The first sight of Peter shook the relief Ray had been experiencing all the way to the room. Peter was pale beneath his tan, tossing and moaning softly. A bandage ran around his head just above his eyes, the dark hair, longer than Ray remembered seeing it, had been shaved along one side. Through his worry, Ray had to smile. Peter would have a fit.

As one they moved closer but as they neared the bed, Winston stepped aside, motioning Ray forward. Ray smiled his thanks at the understanding the move exhibited. He took one side of the bed while Egon drew close on the other side.

Taking one tight clenched hand in his, Ray leaned forward and whispered, "Peter. Come on, Peter. It's time to wake up."

The restlessness stilled for a moment, then returned more pronounced. Helplessly, Ray looked across at Egon, silently asking him what to do. Egon took Peter's other hand, cleared his throat.

"Peter," he said sternly, "you have Ray worried. It's time..."

In one startling instant, Peter's eyes snapped open, staring in undisguised horror at Egon. He made a soundless cry of terror.

"Peter?" Ray blurted.

Peter's attention jerked away from Egon to Ray and Ray watched his haunted eyes change again, just as suddenly as before. The fear remained but recognition and relief joined it. Before Ray had a chance to do anything, to say anything, Peter launched himself at him. Ray caught him and they both went to the floor, Peter plastered himself so closely to Ray that the occultist could feel his panicked heartbeat. Peter buried his face against Ray's chest, small whimpering sounds escaping him. Scared more now than when he'd found Peter injured, Ray looked over Peter's dark head at Egon.

Egon tried to cover his obvious distress by pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Winston, perhaps you'd better summon a nurse."

Ray wrapped his arms around the trembling man and murmured soft words of comfort to him.

* * * * * * 

Trauma. The word echoed through Ray's mind as they approached Peter's room. Trauma, either physical or physiological, the doctors hadn't been able to determine. They had started with the physical. Two days later they had turned up nothing; no head injury, normal CATscan, normal MRI. Tomorrow they would start on the physiological testing.  
Ray stopped at the door, took a deep breath. A strong hand gripped his upper arm. Glancing over his shoulder, he tried to smile at Egon.

Egon did not return the half-hearted smile. Instead he said, "Peter will be tired. I believe it best if you go in alone, Ray. I... we seem to upset him."

The pain that thought caused the tall physicist was visible in the deep lines etched into his face and the dull cast to the normally sparkling eyes. Behind him, Winston shook his head, looking sad. The distress coming from both his friends made Ray consider for a moment talking them into going inside. But concern for Peter was paramount. Egon was right, Ray was the only person Peter seem to want around. Feeling very much alone, he nodded.

"Why don't we see about getting that other bed in?" Winston suggested to Egon. 

With false smiles the three men parted to their respective tasks. Ray steeled himself and went into the dark room. Peter was lying in the bed, blanket pulled up to his waist, both hands clutched tightly around the edge. The light spilling in from the hall lit the wall next to Peter's head and he pulled the cover tighter. When his eyes met Ray's, he smiled, though it was as strained as the rest of the team’s had been. If anything he looked worse than when he'd been brought in. That stray thought brought Ray up short.

Through all the tests, Peter had remained silent and, as long as Ray was near, cooperative. During each test he'd stared at the instruments in fright, relaxing only after the first few proved to be painless. One thing had become clear to all of them, to Peter this was all new, as if he'd forgotten everything except Ray. They had decided to move a bed in for Ray, hoping having him near would help Peter sleep. As Ray moved closer the door behind him opened and he watched Peter's face pale. 

"Dr. Stantz," Dr. Lesite's clipped voice turned him around. Egon and Winston were standing just inside the door, having followed the doctor into the room.  
The psychologist consulted his clipboard. "Tomorrow we want to start with..."

"No," Ray said firmly. "No more."

All three men looked up, surprised at the tone in his voice. The doctor lowered his clipboard and assumed a patient look. "Dr.Stantz, I realize it seems like we..."

"This isn't helping him." Ray looked over at Egon and Winston. "All we're doing is upsetting him."

The doctor's tone grew firmer. "We have to determine the nature of his psychosis before..."

"We’re taking him home." Ray's tone left no room for argument. "Just sign the release.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned back toward the bed, came over and sat on the edge, taking Peter's cold hand. He smiled at his friend. "We're going home, Peter."

There was no mistaking the relief that lit the green eyes.

* * * * * * 

Peter sat up straighter. Two words and he'd already given himself away. Now he understood why Ray had not been disturbed by his silence. The Peter of this world was mute. Distracted, Peter suddenly found himself pinned to the soft bed by Ray's weight on his chest, a razor sharp knife pressed against his throat. He stopped breathing, looked up into fire lit dark eyes.

"Where is the real Peter? What have you done with him? Is this some mischief of Magna’s?" Ray's voice was low, dangerous, unlike anything Peter had ever heard before.

Swallowing hard Peter tried to think of some smart remarks to parry with. Nothing came so he settled for the truth. Keeping his tone level and his eyes locked with the amber ones above him, he said, "I don't know where your version of Peter is. I didn't have anything to do with this. And I wouldn't know Magna if he/she bit me on the ass."

The man's expression stayed hard and the knife pressed down, drawing blood. Peter held very still, waiting. After a second the knife eased off.

"How did you come to be here?" Ray asked, a little less hotly.

Peter started to shake his head, thought better of it. "I don't know," he repeated. "One minute I was fighting a dimensional rip with my buddies and the next I was lying at the bottom of those stairs."

Very slowly, like ice under bright sun the hardness vanished from Ray's brown eyes. He moved off in one smooth shift of muscle, turning his back on Peter and laying the weapon very gently on a carved Indian ebony table. Peter sat up, touching his throat; his fingers came away colored with crimson. A cloth landed on the bed next to him. Taking it, he pressed it against the slight wound. 

Ray was standing next to the single open window, staring out. Peter stood, drawn to the man, despite the danger.

"By Desert's Fire." Peter heard the man mutter. "Winston, Egon... now, Peter as well."

"Winston and Egon?" Peter echoed fuzzily. The fear caused adrenaline was fading, leaving the drug to take over again. "You know them?"

The man turned, wiping at his eyes, regarding Peter carefully. After a minute he sighed, and gestured toward the bed. "Sit. Perhaps we can help each other understand what has happened."

Peter sat, but his eyes drifted closed. He felt a trembling hand on his shoulder, the bed met his back and a moment later something light was laid over him. He blinked, fighting the drug. He forced his eyes open enough to see the tears on Ray’s cheeks. The darkness called him.

The last thing he heard was Ray's soft voice say sadly, "Rest now. We have a lifetime to talk."

* * * * * *

“Ray?” A light hand landed on his shoulder, patted gently. “He’s asleep, Ray, it’s time for you to do the same.”

Ray shifted in the chair he’d positioned next to Peter’s bed, looked up at Janine. Across the room, Egon and Winston had both given into the more severe nature of their injuries and fallen asleep. Straightening a little, Ray glanced at Peter. His friend was also sleeping soundly, obviously more at ease than he had been at the hospital.

Janine’s hand slipped under his arm, urged him up. Ray smiled at her, coming to his feet. “I’m really not sleepy Janine.”

“Ray,” Janine said softly, “you’re going to worry yourself into the hospital, then who would take care of Peter?”

Ray took a sharp breath. It was a simple, honest question but it started a deep, nagging pain in his chest. It was not something he had ever considered. Take care of Peter? A hand touched his, and he looked up. Janine smiled softly.

“Come on,” she ordered, “I’ll make you some warm milk.”

“I shouldn’t leave...”

“Peter’s not going to wake up anytime soon,” she assured him warmly. “He looks like such a little kid sometimes.”

The gentleness of her voice made Ray smile despite his worry. “And acts like one sometimes too.”

“Yeah,” Janine admitted, “but it’s one of the things we love about him. But don’t tell him that.”

Ray laughed at that, a little of his tension melting. He had known they were all in this together, had known he would not be alone in caring for Peter but Janine’s words brought the love into sharp focus. He tucked the blanket around Peter a little more then turned back.

“Warm milk sounds great,” he said softly.

* * * * * *

They stared awkwardly over the marble table at each other. Peter tugged at the short tunic, uncomfortable with the breeze playing around his knees. He had awoken to find himself alone in the bedroom, the white and green tunic laying on the table next to the bed. Once dressed he had come into the living area to find Ray cooking. Beyond the muttered greetings nothing had been said as they ate. Now, there was no avoiding the situation.

“Do you want to start first,” Peter questioned, “or shall I?”

“You will have the most questions, perhaps it would be best for you to begin,” the man suggested levelly. “Ask what you will.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Most questions” was a slight understatement but what he asked first surprised them both.

“Is your name Ray?”

The other man looked surprised. “Raymond.”

Having already guessed Peter only nodded. “You said you knew Egon and Winston?”

A flicker of pain went over the too familiar features. Familiar, but Peter was beginning to see the differences. This Ray looked... older, not so much in years as in experience; the boyishness was lost to old pain. There was a series of light scars around each of his wrists and a two inch one along the left side of his neck, over the jugular. Peter wondered briefly how he had managed to survive the injury given the present state of technology.

“Knew is unfortunately correct,” Raymond sighed. “Peter, Egon, Winston and I were partners in our world.”

Peter asked, “What did you do?”

Ray smiled in sad remembrance. “We were traveling performers.”

An uncontrollable smile lifted Peter’s mouth at the unexpected answer. “Performers?”

His smile lightened the mood a little, brought an answering smile to his companion. “Egon was our magician, slight of hand. Winston was our storyteller and astrologer. I did knife throwing and kept the others together. Peter was... is a juggler,” his voice faded with worry.

Without thinking, Peter reached across the table, touched the callused hand. “Hey, we’ll figure this out.”

But the other man refused the consolation, pushing back and coming to his feet. “There is nothing to... figure... out. Magna has become bored with Peter. She has summoned you in his place, to torment me with his image but not....” He turned, wrapping his arms across his chest. “There is nothing anyone can do when Magna changes her mind.”

It was said with such fatality that Peter had no hopeful reply to come back with. He fell back into practicality, knowing that it worked with his version of Raymond.

“Tell me about Magna,” he ordered.

Raymond turned, obviously surprised at his tone. Peter regarded him calmly, waiting. When the shock wore off neutrality replace it. Ray sat back down.

“Magna is a wizardress. She controls this world, or all we know of it. People are summoned here for her amusement.”

Peter stared. It was not what he had expected, though it went a long way toward explaining the comfortable surroundings. It also explained the conditions of the world. From what Peter knew of magic, low technology was easier to control. 

He sat back, digesting his companion’s information and theory. Something about it didn’t feel right. He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone brought me here. As far as we could tell nothing had come through the rip. I fell through it; I wasn’t sucked in.”

The puzzled look on Raymond’s face had gave way to understanding. “Something caused this.. rip and when you fell in it caused an exchange between you and my Peter?” he asked for confirmation.

Before Peter could answer, a loud, two note chime vibrated through the house. Raymond came to his feet, panic paling his face for just an instant. He grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling him toward the bedroom.

“Magna summons us,” the auburn-haired man whispered intently.

“What are you doing?” Peter demanded.

“If you are correct,” Ray explained, “that Magna is unaware of the exchange we must keep it that way.”

“I don’t see...”

Raymond grabbed a large cape from a hook over the bed. “You must trust me. It will be better if she does not know of this. I will explain about your fall, perhaps she will not want us both tonight.”

Sitting up, Peter grabbed for Raymond, wincing as the move jarred his bruises. Regret washed over Raymond’s face and he grabbed Peter’s outstretched hand. But he offered no apology.

“Stay here and be quiet,” he ordered. “It’s worth both our lives.”

The last line convinced Peter to obey. For the moment he was out of his element. But he intended to correct that soon.

* * * * * * 

Ray could feel the emerald eyes staring intently at him as he went about making breakfast. He started to put the toast in when he felt a light hand on his arm. Turning he smiled at Peter.

“What did you want for breakfast, Peter?” he asked.

To his surprise, Peter smiled broadly at him and took the bread out of his hand. Escorting Ray to the chair Peter returned to the counter and continued cooking what Ray had started. Ray watched him with affection. Movement caught his eye and Winston came dragging in to collapse in the chair next to him. They watched Peter in silence.

Winston cleared his throat and carefully asked, “Did you show Peter how to do this or did...”

Ray looked over at the bigger man when he couldn’t finish the question. “Or did he remember?” Winston nodded without looking at him. “No to both questions.”

This time Winston did look up, puzzlement in the dark eyes. Ray smiled at him. “He’s not dumb, Winston, or a child. He’s a grown, rational human being who just... doesn’t remember things yet.”

With a chagrined smile, Winston said, “He’s been watching you?”

“Constantly,” Ray said with a sigh. 

Peter moved toward them, holding the heavy iron skillet in front of him. He nodded to Winston then pushed the eggs and bacon into Ray’s plate. Turning back to Winston he pointed at the eggs and raised an eyebrow. Winston caught the obvious question.

“Two, please, Peter.”

With a quiet smile Peter returned to the stove to complete the request.  
Glancing toward the door, Ray suddenly asked, “Where’s Egon?”

There was no answer. “Winston?”

“Ray, not now. You have to have Peter to the doctor in an hour.”

The evasive answer confused and worried Ray. “What’s wrong, Winston? He’s not sick...”

“No,” Winston said quickly. With a sigh he added, “It’s going to take a while, Ray. Let it go for now. We’ll talk about it...”

The alarm rattled the window. Winston and Ray came to their feet instantly; from the stove was a crash. Winston started for the stairs; Ray turned, concerned about Peter. The other man had dropped the heavy pan onto the stove, causing grease to splatter into the gas flame. Peter was staring at the flames, before Ray could move to douse them, Peter reached for a cloth, wet it down and threw it over the fire. Only then did he turn toward Ray. The emerald eyes were glittering with fear but Ray knew instinctively it wasn’t due to the fire. 

He started toward the tall brunette and found himself met half-way, Peter grabbing him hard around the waist and hanging on. Ray was momentarily startled; there was real desperation in Peter’s grip. Ray raised his hand, ran it through Peter’s thick hair.

“It’s okay, Peter,” he whispered.

Peter eased away, resignation replacing his fear. He took Ray’s hand, and stood back obviously waiting for something. Ray didn’t have time to figure out what. They had agreed not to take any calls unless another rip appeared. The claxton was the sign that it had occurred. Ray pulled Peter toward the stairs, ignoring his soundless start of surprise.

Near the lockers, Egon and Winston were loading three proton packs into Ecto’s rack. The sight of only three gave Ray a twinge of unease but he ignored it; turning to met Janine. She held out a piece of paper.

“Same as before,” she said crisply. “Near the docks. No one close this time though.”

“That’s a step up,” Winston approved.

“I have adjusted the packs to allow more control and lessen feedback upon closing of the rip,” Egon explained. He turned and nearly collided with Peter. Taking a sharp breath, he said tightly, “Ray perhaps you should explain to Peter why he will not be able to accompany us on this call.”

Before Ray could answer, Peter did. Grabbing Ray’s arm, he pointed fiercely to Ray, then to himself, then to Ecto, making it very clear that where Ray went - he went. 

Ray touched the fingers gripped hard around his arm. “Peter...”

“I think he should go.”

As one the other four turned to look at Winston. Crossing his arms defensively, he said, “I’ve read sometimes the best thing for someone who’s had a severe shock like this is to go back into the same situation.”

Egon stiffened. “That is a highly controversial theory, Winston. One that I would not want to risk Peter’s safety on.”

Again Ray started to speak, only to be cut off by Peter suddenly moving by him. The tall brunette stopped square in front of Egon, staring intently at him. Reaching out he took Egon’s right hand with his, took Winston’s and joined them together in his right. He smiled back at Ray. Understanding at once, Ray stepped up and laid his hand on the other three.

“He may not remember much, Egon,” Ray said with a trace of tears breaking his voice. “But he knows we belong together.”

Staring into the intense green eyes, Egon reluctantly nodded. “Very well. But no pack.”

* * * * * *

He lasted just over an hour before giving into his curiosity. Rummaging through the cedar chest he found a pair of green silk, Arabian looking pants and a matching tunic, edged in silver. Tightening the sandals, Peter started out, pausing only long enough to pick up one of the heavy gold rings laying on the nightstand. and pop it in his mouth.

The sun was hot and high, though a surprisingly cool breeze kept it bearable. The walk awakened a few pains among his bruises but not enough to dissuade him from going. He found out quickly it wasn’t going to be much of a walk. From the front of the small house, to his right, he could see the end of the street less than two blocks away. There was nothing but endlessly rolling sand beyond his location and the other end of the street. It was a prefect prison without walls.

Stepping out into the street, he started to scan the whole area, not expecting anything but sand. He was shocked to find a towering manor directly behind the tidy house. It had not been there when Raymond had brought him in. He knew without a moments doubt that this was his keeper’s abode, Magna’s dwelling, and where Raymond had been summoned. A twinge of worry went through him. It was hard to remember the man was not the Ray Stantz that he knew.

Pushing the thought aside he started down the street. Beyond the strange mix of people and cultures, it was a prefect primitive town. He counted about two dozen people either on the street or stepping from their shops to wave at him as he progressed, though none spoke to him. Several shops displayed clothing and cloth, another held a myriad of furniture, one was a tavern, two were filled with herbs and potions and the last was a huge open market of food. A thousand questions assaulted Peter as he walked; did Magna supply all the food? Did she provide the raw materials for the shops? Could there be traders who were allowed into the village from outside? Was there an “outside”? 

“Peter?” A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, whirling.

A petite, raven haired young woman stood in front of him, dressed in a cross of Nubian and Native American styles. She took an involuntary step back at his jump. “I’m sorry, my friend, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Thankful for the old drama class trick of the ring to remind him not to talk, he smiled, waving extravagantly. A touch of panic hit him as he considered that this world’s Peter might know some form of sign language. Raymond had given no indication of it but they hadn’t exactly been together a long time before Peter had started talking. He held his breath. 

The woman smiled at him, accepting his silent apology. “I understand.” She glanced around. “Where is Raymond?”

With only a moments hesitation, he pointed toward the mansion dominating the town. He was not pleased by her returned frown.

“Magna summoned only Raymond?” she asked quietly, worry in her tone. “She has never had just him to pleasure her.” 

Uncertain of who her worry was for, he pointed toward the dark bruise on his leg. His explanation seemed to relieve a little of her concern, but there was still a darkness to her expression. Trying to ease her mind, as well as his own, he pointed to the stalls of vegetables. She nodded, lacing his arm through hers.

“I’ll help you choose only the finest, Peter,” she promised. “Then you can have a wonderful meal ready for Raymond’s return.”

The next twenty minutes were both nerve-wracking and enlightening. Peter discovered his new companion’s name was Psage; he learned that money was not needed in his new world and that everyone was very surprised to see him out alone. It was this last fact that heightened his sense of time passing. When Psage laid the last of the food in his arms, he smiled and nodded toward his new home. Psage touched lightly on his arm.

“I hope everything is well when Raymond returns,” she said softly.

Peter tried to smile confidently, wishing not for the first time he could speak. With a short wave to the farmer he walked quickly away, reassured by the sight of the prominent manor. Since the building had not been there the night before, he was left to assume that only when Magna summoned someone did the dwelling show up. Nevertheless, he increased his pace as he neared the house.

Inside was cool, dark and quiet. He lay the food on the tiled cabinet. Heaving a sigh of relief, he took the ring out of his mouth, wiped it clean on the edge of a white cloth hanging in the kitchen. 

“Peter?”

He jumped, spun around. Raymond was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, leaning on the doorjamb. His elaborate tunic was gone, leaving only the white underwrap and his sandals. There were darkening bruises along one cheek and several long scratches on his chest. Peter was to him in two strides.

“Jesus Chri...”  
Raymond’s hand cut him off. With a curt gesture to the back window he ordered Peter to check for the palace. Peter frowned, leaving his companion only long enough to confirm the absence of their keeper’s building. He hurried back, wrapping a helpful arm around Raymond’s waist.

“She’s gone,” he said harshly. “What happened?”

With a groan Raymond sat down on the edge of the bed. “She was very displeased that you had not answered the summons.”

Guilt hit Peter at the implication that his absence had caused Raymond’s injuries. He shoved the thought away, seeing it as useless. “How bad are you hurt?”

Raymond’s familiar amber eyes locked with his. “Not so bad. A few bruises, some scratches...”

He broke the gaze, and Peter knew there was more. He sighed, after his walk around town there was so much more he needed to know. Like the errant guilt, he also knew that now was not the time for that either.

“Relax,” he urged. “I’ll get some water. We’ll get you cleaned up then some food and rest.”

He started to turn and a strong hand stopped him. He found himself again mesmerized by the dark eyes. “When I found you gone,” Ray said softly, “I feared Magna had sent you away, or worse perhaps.”

Taking a deep breath, Peter confessed, “I went out.”

A harsh breath and a tightening of the hand on his arm answered him. “That was a very dangerous and foolish thing to do!” Raymond barked.

Peter’s temper started to heat. “I need to know about this world if me and my double are going to get back to where we belong.”

“I can answer your questions,” Raymond said sharply. “You risk much by going out.”  
“Nothing went wrong,” Peter defended.

The hard light faded under weariness in Raymond’s eyes. “You will have to make due with my answers for the time.”

“Yeah,” Peter relented, seeing the tired look. “How long before Magna issues another summons?”

Raymond sighed, laying back. “No man can tell. I think a day, maybe more.”

That news was the first good thing Peter had heard all day. He smiled. “Good. I’ll get the water, help you clean up then you can rest and we’ll talk. I have even more questions then I did before my walk.”

Raymond didn’t respond, having fallen asleep.

* * * * * *

There was not need for the flashlights once they reached the alley. The rip provided more than enough light. For a full minute all they could do was stare at the gaping hole in the air. It was larger than the first, starting several feet above the ground and extending up for fifteen feet, covering the alley side to side. Egon was the first to recover, taking out his PKE meter and collecting readings. Ray sensed Peter stiffening next to him. He turned to his friend, smiled, worried about Peter being scared. To his surprise he found only intense curiosity in the wide green eyes. The ground shuddered under them, signaling the rip’s growth and bringing his attention back to work.

“Egon?” Winston questioned.

“I’ll go left. Ray, right. Winston take the lower Ray and I will take the upper.”

Ray shoved Peter back toward the safety of Ecto. “Stay here Peter and grab Ecto’s door if things start flying.”

For a moment he expected protest, but as he had told Winston, Peter was not stupid. With a short nod, the brunette returned to the solid ambulance.

“Ready!” Ray yelled.

“Set,” Winston confirmed.

“Fire!” Egon ordered.

Three beams lanced out, caught the edges of the wound in space and time. As before the beams bucked with the ferocity of a renegade bull. The ground trembled, the waves rolling out, battering the buildings on either side of the alley. Ray glanced nervously at the old brick warehouse to his right, to his left the wood structure swayed, absorbing the energy more easily. The ground rolled, splitting the foundation of the brick building, raining manmade stones down on them. But the gap starting closing.

“It’s coming,” Winston yelled.

The gap surged, changing colors from white/blue to a strange green. Ray held his thrower steady but a thread of worry went down his back.

“Egon?” he yelled over the screaming beams and buffeting energy.

“Keep them on,” Egon urged. 

As Winston and Ray held their positions, Egon cut his beam and pulled out the PKE meter. “Indications are...”

He never finished. Something came through the wall nearest the barrier, landing in front of Ray. He cut his beam, staggering back in surprise. The entity was twice Ray’s height, half-way his width, covered with fine, thick hair. Long clawed arms whipped toward him. Before he could react something grabbed him around the middle, spun him toward the safety of a garbage bin. A solid body covered his right side, pressed him into the wall.

Twisting, he met Peter’s tight expression. Smiling his thanks, he touched Peter’s arm briefly, over Peter’s shoulder he could see the entity advancing on Winston. Shoving Peter gently aside he jerked his thrower up, powering up again. He felt Peter’s hand squeeze his arm, not to stop him but to encourage him. He nodded to his friend and charged into the battle.

The creatures tail, spiked, whipped toward Egon. “Egon!” Winston yelled, hitting the questing appendage with a full blast at the same time. The tail withdrew.

“Egon?” Ray questioned. He was holding his thrower ready, but waited to fire. Experience told him that sometimes shooting made things worse. “What is it? Can we trap it?”

“No,” Egon answered. “It’s corporal. We have to drive it back into the gap.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that!” Winston quipped.

“Get behind it,” Egon said, starting to move. “The beams will act like shocks. We can herd it back into the rip then close the dimensions.”

Ray sighed, it always sounded easy. He shifted slightly left, closer to Winston. Egon moved to his right. They fired together, hitting the creature on several tentacles and the body at the same time. It howled it rage but shambled closer to the hole between dimensions. 

“Giddyup!” Winston yelled.

The thing began to move faster, almost as if it wanted to jump back through. But just as it looked like it would work the creature whirled back toward them, multi-eyes scanning the area for a target. They cut their beams, circling, trying to find a better position to drive from. The creature crouched down, centering its attention on Egon.

“It’s going to attack!” Ray warned, finger starting to tighten.

What passed for muscles bunched under the incandescent green hair - and something flashed across the alley. 

“Peter!” Ray screamed.

While the three of them watched in terror, Peter charged across the narrow space directly in front of the beast. It roared, spun to follow him. He sprinted back toward the rip, the beast close on his heels. Ray’s breath caught in his throat as he watched.

“He’s getting it closer,” Egon yelled, understanding what his dark-haired companion was up to. “Be ready to fire.”

The creature, closing in on its prey, lunged.

“Peter! Roll!” Winston urged.

The silent Ghostbuster hit the ground, rolling on the uneven cement under the rip. The creature saw its danger, claws scrambled on the shattered alley as it tried to stop but momentum had it. With a final roar of disgust it vanished into the white hole. The ripping wind faded, to be replaced by the ominous groaning of the dimensions coming together. 

“It’s gonna go!” Winston shouted the warning.

With a quick glance across the narrow alley to make sure Peter was safely down, Ray dropped. Around them the ground staggered, chunks of road and more bricks shattered around them. They stayed down, arms over their heads for long minutes, until the last of the ripples had faded from the concrete. Ray pushed up.

“Egon? Winston?”

“I seem to be uninjured,” Egon said but there was a tightness in his voice.

Ray looked over at him. He had hit the ground hard, jarring the bruised ribs. On his other side Winston climbed slowly up. He had fared better, his broken arm easier to keep clear when he’d hit the deck. Ray came to his feet, stepping toward Egon. Peter appeared next to the blond, wrapping a strong, gentle arm around him and putting him on his feet.

To his surprise, Ray noted the stiffening of Egon’s long frame. Memories of the conversation with Winston returned. Joining Peter and Egon he gave them both a relieved smile, at the same time he made a note to talk to Egon as soon as possible.

* * * * * *

It was another silent meal. Peter watched his companion wolf down the simple salad he had put together. When Raymond looked up Peter smiled gamely, took a breath. He had a lot of questions that needed answering if he were to get home.

“You were hungry,” he started blandly.

Raymond nodded. “It was a long night.”

“Does Magna always get rough during sex?” Peter asked with the same lack of inflection.

The brown eyes snapped up, stared at him. But Raymond recovered quickly, merely glancing back down at his plate. “Who told you?”  
“It wasn’t hard to figure out after some of the things Psage said.”

With a sigh, Raymond answered the question. “She can be very violent.” Looking thoughtful, fingering a bruise on his cheek, he said, “She was upset by something.”

Peter’s interest perked; he put his list of questions on hold for the moment. “Any idea of what?”

Raymond looked up suddenly. “She attempted a spell and I believe it was not successful.”

“What makes you think that?” 

With a shrug, Raymond said, “Nothing happened. She seemed surprised, then ran out.”

Peter stared at Raymond a moment before standing and pacing. “Something caused the rip between our dimensions,” he muttered. Turning back he asked, “When Magna casts spells does she use a book, scrolls, anything?”

Another shake of the dark head, followed by a flinch. Peter felt a twinge of sympathy. He came over, put a hand on Ray’s strong shoulder. “I know you’re tired but I really need to know about Magna. I think she may be the key to...”

“I said that!” Raymond snapped. “She’s done this!”

Peter dropped his hand. “Not intentionally,” he said quietly.

That stopped the outburst. Raymond rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Something has affected or is effecting her spells?” he ventured, looking to Peter for confirmation.

This time Peter was not surprised by the quick grasp of his theory. The man might be from a more primitive culture but he was not stupid. Peter nodded his agreement.

“So what can we do?” Raymond asked.

“Tell me about Magna, about any changes, any new arrivals besides me. Why does she keep all these people? Are they all like you and Peter, sex toys?”

The last statement brought a smile to Raymond’s face. “Sex toys? What a strange idea.”

Raymond rose, refilled his glass with spring water and came back to stand next to Peter. Peter waited.

“I will answer everything, as I said before but will you answer one question first for me?”

Peter nodded. “Sure.”

“Do you think my... Peter is safe in your world?”

There was no missing the catch in the man’s voice, the deep fear in the simple question. Peter instant response was to answer in the affirmative. But he considered it. The situation he had been pulled out of had been dangerous; a lot could have happened. And afterward... would the guys know that Peter was not him? Since he couldn’t talk what then?

“If he’s with my friends, they’ll take good care of him,” he answered honestly.

But Raymond had heard the unspoken reservations. He nodded, returning the gesture that Peter had used earlier by placing a strong hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter smiled, the touch making him feel better.

* * * * * *

Ray watched Peter come into the room from the kitchen, a large bowl of popcorn in his hands. He flopped down in front of the TV, reached for the remote. Even from across the room Ray could sense Egon’s sudden discomfort. A twinge of guilt hit him and he wondered how he could have missed it before. Whatever the cause was it was time to clear it up. Ray crossed the room, joined Peter on the couch.

Taking a handful of the white treat, he smiled at his friend. “Peter, why don’t you go upstairs and watch TV? Egon and I need to discuss this afternoons job.”

It was close enough to the truth that he didn’t feel bad about chasing the other man out. The emerald eyes regarded him for a moment, then flicked over his shoulder to the blond studying the PKE meter at the table. When Peter looked back, Ray knew he had sensed there was something more to the request. He must have also sensed Ray’s unease because a soft smile touched the still pale face. With a pat to Ray’s arm, he retrieved his popcorn and left.

Ray sighed, now came the hard part. He had been considering his approach ever since their return several hours earlier. This kind of thing, he knew, was not his strong point, was in fact Peter’s forte - and he suddenly had the answer to what was bothering Egon. The worry that seemed to have taken up permanent residency in his chest flared but he rose steadily and joined the physicist at the table. 

There was a quick nod of greeting then Egon returned to his too determined study of the readings they had collected on the mission in the alley.

Taking a deep breath, Ray reached across the table and said quietly, “I miss him, too.”

Egon stopped, he didn’t seem startled, he merely stopped. For a long instant the tableau held, then he looked up, sapphire eyes meeting Ray’s.

“I don’t understand ...”

“Peter,” Ray admitted around the painful catch in his throat. “Sometimes I miss the old Peter.”

He expected denial. But Egon only regarded him calmly. The arguments Ray had prepared, all the right things, all the assurances, all vanished under the intense gaze. Then, very slowly, like ice under a chinook wind, the gaze softened. Egon’s hand flipped over, took Ray’s in a tight grip.

“I’ve been researching head trauma,” Egon stated quietly.

Ray didn’t want to hear anymore, didn’t want to know but he let Egon continue, only returning the strong hold. 

“It is highly unlikely that Peter will ever return to normal,” Egon said bluntly.

The denials Ray had expected to hear from the scientist now came to his own mind. But all he said was, “Then this will have to become normal for us.”

Egon remained silent, and Ray continued, “Egon, I know that you... have trouble talking to people sometimes; I mean about anything important. But Peter is still here, he still cares about you...”

The simple remark gained him a strong reaction. Egon pulled away, pushing out of the chair and pacing away. “Does he?” he questioned harshly from the window. “You saw his reaction in the hospital. He not only doesn’t remember Winston and I, he’s terrified of us.”

“Not now,” Ray said emphatically.

He rose, joined Egon at the window, put a hand on the tight, narrow shoulder. “You saw him this morning. He picked you up; he saved me and he hugged Winston when he got back to the car. I don’t know why he reacted that way in the hospital but he remembers you now. He remembers we all love each other.”

Taking Egon by the upper arms, Ray turned him around, met his eyes. “Maybe Peter won’t remember everything, maybe he won’t remember anything, maybe he won’t ever talk but what he knew this morning - that’s what’s important, that’s what we all have to remember - we’re still family.”

Egon stared into his eyes for a long time. Finally, slowly a soft smile touched his lips. He touched the hand holding his arm. “You’re right, of course. And you’re getting as adept at handling our problems as Peter wa.. is.”

Ray nodded, returning the smile. “My aunt says the past is behind us and we make our own future.”

“A very intelligent statement,” Egon conceded. Though there was still the shadow of loss in his blue eyes, Ray could feel the determination building in his attitude.

“So,” he said, slapping Egon on the shoulder, “when do we start the lessons?”

A puzzled look that Peter would have been proud of colored the fair face. “Lessons?”

“Sign language,” Ray said shortly. “If you want to have a serious conversation with Peter you’d better start teaching all of us.”

* * * * * *

The stars were incredibly bright in the desert sky. Peter noted absently that he didn’t recognize any of the constellations. They had spent the entire day talking about this world, about Magna and her motives. Several theories had come to Peter, and with each one came the desperate wish this Raymond were his Ray. He had picked up enough occult information to take some educated guesses but how to get a plan out of the information was beyond his reach.

“Peter?” Raymond called from the small patio behind him.

He knew what the man was going to ask, knew he didn’t have an answer. He turned, but stayed on the warm sand. Raymond came to him. 

“Do you have plan?” he asked bluntly.

Reluctantly, Peter shook his head. “Not yet. I still don’t know enough.”

Raymond sighed. Stepping past Peter he took up his own silent study of the heavens. Peter wanted to say something, wanted to assure Raymond as much as himself. But there was little he could say.

He watched Raymond’s shoulders rise in a deep sigh. “Peter, I have not been completely truthful in what will occur when we next are summoned.”

A tingle of anger went up Peter’s back. “What else?” he demanded tightly.

Raymond turned around, the dark eyes connected with his. “Magna does not always... participate. Often she only watches.”

It took a single breath for Peter’s mind to confirm what his heart already suspected. “You and Peter are lovers.”

“And you and Ray, are not,” Raymond observed flatly.

All the implications, for both himself and his version of Ray, settled into Peter’s stomach. His thoughts went to home, to Ray, to all that might happen. With a concentrated effort he pushed his thoughts back to his own present, to what it would take to get through the next day, to get into the palace and find a way home.

“All right,” he said carefully, “not only do I have to remember not to talk, I also have to...”

He left the sentence open, wanting the details. Raymond frowned.

“Sometimes it is both of us to pleasure her. Other summonings, she will bring one of the village women and watch the three of us. But Peter and I, we are her favorites.”

“Goody for you,” Peter said harshly, his nervousness making him cold.

Without warning, he found himself down on the fine sand, Raymond straddling his hips, hands bruising his shoulders. Fire glittered in the coffee colored eyes.

“Do you think I enjoy this!” Raymond snapped. “I’ve watched two friends die! I’ve lived though seeing my love for Peter turned into a show for that bitch!”

Raymond’s fist came up and Peter flinched, the hand slammed into the ground next to his head, spraying sand in Peter’s face. Raymond pushed off him, sitting with his back toward him, taking deep breaths. The pain radiating off the man drew Peter. Sitting up he put his arm around the strong shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I say things before putting my brain in gear.”

A soft chuckle answered him. Raymond looked up, blinking back tears. “I didn’t understand all of that, but I understood the feeling behind it.”

He continued to stare at Peter. “You are so much like him, yet so unlike him.” Shifting, he put himself in front of Peter. “I have told you of my world. What of yours? How different is it?”

“Very different.” Peter found himself staring at Raymond, not really hearing the questions, thoughts drifting back to the original problem.

Slowly, carefully forcing himself to treat it casually, he slipped his arm around the bigger man’s waist. Raymond’s questions stopped and Peter heard the sharp breath he took. His gaze snapped up, looking questioningly into Peter’s face. Peter refused to let his unease show. But it took twice to clear his throat.

“Look, if this is going to work,” he managed finally, “we had better get used to each other.”

Raymond smiled, shaking his head. “If that is the best you can do, we are in trouble.” Before Peter could think of anything to say to that, his companion leaned closer, pulled Peter in, resting his arm over his shoulders. “Come now, tell me of your world. What are you and the others there? Remember them to me, especially your Raymond. Let the memories relax you.”

Seeing the logic of the man’s order, Peter took a deep breath. “Okay. Hey, you know you’re not a bad psychologist.”

“Thank you,” Raymond said lightly. “You may start with explaining what that means.”

* * * * * * 

“Here,” Ray said pointing at the PKE reading that blipped across the computer screen.

“Yes,” Egon agreed. “It pulses at regular intervals.”

A hand tapped his shoulder and Ray turned. Peter was smiling at him hopefully, holding out a picture. Ray returned the smile, taking the picture. It was a section of Central Park, looking very green and picturesque. Peter gestured, pointing to himself, then Ray, then the picture.

“I’m sorry, Peter, we can’t go now. Tomorrow.”

He could see the disappointment in the emerald eyes, but there was something else there too, an appraising looking that touched him, the computer, and Egon. After a minute Peter’s smile returned, though a little tentatively. When Ray turned back to the computer, he felt a soft hand stroke along his back. The touch surprised him, but by the time he turned, Peter was out the door. He stared at the empty doorway for a moment.

“Ray?”

He turned again to met Egon’s look. “Yeah... what do you think?”

“This can wait,” Egon started.

“No,” Ray said softly. “The sooner we solve this the sooner we can stop it. Peter will be all right. He needs to spend some time getting used to things alone.”

With only a second of silence, Egon touched a switch on the computer and scrolled further through the readings. “If the projections are correct the rips will continue to increase in size. Though not growing exponentially the increase will be such that by the fourth breach we will not have enough power in the proton packs to contain it.”

Ray stared at the computer. “No pattern on the appearances yet?”

“No.”

In an unconscious imitation of Peter, Ray grabbed a chair, flipped it around and sat. “Whatever is causing this,” he said with sudden insight, “is on the other side of the rift. To stop it we have to go though it.”

Egon nodded slowly. “That prospect had also occurred to me. However, I believe we can wait until...”

“Hey, you two plan on eating?” Winston interrupted from the door. 

Egon glanced over at Ray, asking without words his preference. Smiling sheepishly, Ray said, “Well, I am a little hungry.”

He rose, started for the stairs. “I’ll get Peter.”

“Peter?” Winston questioned. “He headed out about ten minutes ago.”

Ray spun, staring at him. Fear clutched his stomach. “Out? You let him go out!”

His seldom seen anger startled Winston. The bigger man held up his hands. “Easy. You said yourself he’s a grown man. He can go out on his own if he wants.”

Forced to face his own assessment of Peter’s condition Ray took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, Winston. It’s just that he seems so... young right now.”

Egon’s hand touched his shoulder. “We can go search for him.”

He wanted to yell yes, wanted to bolt for the door. “No. Winston’s right. Maybe it will...”

Ray had promised himself that he would not say anything like “jog his memory” but in the back of his mind the comforting useless words rattled off. 

“Let’s go eat,” Winston urged.

Egon started out. “Winston, what prompts you to continually recommend eating as a solution to tense situations?”

Shrugging, Winston said, “My mom says there is no situation that can’t be helped with a good meal.”

Ray forced a smile. “A smart woman your mother.”

* * * * * *

Dawn came in with a blaze of color and a choir of birds in the small patch of palm trees that circled the house. Peter watched every color appear, watched every bird pick up the song. Sleep had eluded him completely. Laying there with color streaming slowly over the day, he considered why.

He and Raymond had sat together long into the night, comfortable in the silence. But with thoughts of the day all his contentment had vanished. From the tension that radiated off his companion he knew Raymond had also had a sleepless night. As the light faded the shadows in the room, Raymond rose silently and retreated to the safety of the kitchen, leaving Peter to worry.

The smell of food called him away from the depression. Sliding into a short tunic, he walked casually into the kitchen. A glass of milk was waiting patiently on the table for him. Raymond was frying something on the small breakfast fire. Peter took a large swallow of the warm liquid, nearly choking on the cream-laden thick sweetness. Raymond smiled at him.

“You must have cows,” he remarked. “Goat is much sweeter.”

Peter only nodded, sipping slower this time. “You didn’t sleep very much last night.”

“Nor you,” Raymond observed.

There was no avoiding the question. “When do you think Magna will summon us?”

Raymond shrugged. “There is never any warning.”

The milk tickled his throat and Peter coughed slightly. “Well, I have a plan.” An expectant look met his. “You say Magna usually disappears after... after.”

Raymond nodded. “Yes, for several hours on occasion.”

“And you’ve never left the room?”

There was a slight bristling of his companion. “No. Why should we? There was no reason to leave!”

“Easy,” Peter urged, clearing his throat again. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with a cold. “I understand. It just means that if I leave the room, I’ll have to be careful about finding my way back before...”

A warm hand touched his arm. “Magna is not always so predictable. What happens should she return?”

“Then it’s up to you to stall,” Peter said hoarsely.

“Stall?”

“Keep her busy,” Peter said softly. He took another sip of milk, trying to get rid of the sudden tightness in his voice.

A single chime filled the small house. Raymond’s face went pale. “Magna,” he said shortly.

“So soo...” Peter’s voice died off, fading into air. He coughed, opened his mouth, tried again, still there was no sound. Panic and confusion hit him - then realization. He stared up into guilt filled brown eyes.

Raymond’s gaze flinched away. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I couldn’t risk...”

Peter’s fist flashed out, knocked Raymond to the tiled floor. 

“The herb is not harmful and will only last a day and night,” Raymond explained, staying down while rubbing his jaw.

Another chime sounded, only this time the tone was different and to Peter’s horror, Raymond stiffened, eyes growing wide. “By the Desert’s Sands,” he whispered. “She only summons you.”

Peter’s anger vanished, replaced by the same fear he saw in the amber eyes. While thoughts of sharing a bed with Raymond in more than a platonic manner had worried him, the thought of going in alone scared him much more. Raymond rose smoothly, grabbed Peter’s arm.

“We must get you dressed.” He urged him toward the bedroom. 

Peter jerked his arm away. He wanted very badly to argue but since sound was impossible he settled for action. Shoving hard by Raymond, he threw open the closet, snatched the first item out and flung it toward the bed. He missed. Another chime sounded.

“Peter!” Raymond snapped.

Whirling around, Peter’s fist came partially up again. Raymond gripped it, hard enough to cause pain. Anger flared in the familiar eyes that Peter had ever only known as kind and curious. Raymond held him still.

“You can be angry later,” he said hotly. “If you want to pursue this, if you want to get home, then you must take my counsel.”

The single magic word of home stopped him. Still glaring, he let his hand relax inside Raymond’s hold. Crossing his arms in what little defiance he could manage, he sat heavily down on the bed and waited for Raymond to pick his clothes.

As the other man helped him dress he added more warnings to the list Peter had already built up from the night before. “Don’t believe everything you see. Magna can become very beautiful, if she wishes. But she will only take female forms.” Wryly, he added, “Something we can be grateful for in this happenstance.”

Raymond continued to remind him of things from the night before. Peter only half-listened, wondering vaguely how he was ever going to manage to be romantic under these circumstances.

* * * * * *

Ray was actually pleased with himself. Peter had returned to the station less than an hour later, looking happy, if perhaps a little puzzled. And Ray had controlled his urge to ask questions, to demand to know where he’d been, why he’d left. He knew why Peter had gone out and over the worry of him being gone had been the knowledge that he had driven him away with his constant watching. If there was one thing Peter obviously remembered, it was his independence.

Now, as they settled into bed, Ray rolled over and watched his friend, the protectiveness returning. Peter had lost his reading ability, something that worried the doctors more than anything else. But he retained his curiosity and had already started his way through any book in the library with pictures. Now, he was sitting, propped against a stack of pillows, eagerly looking at one of Ray’s old fairy tale books.

“Peter?” Ray called softly, not wanting to wake Egon and Winston, both of whom had already dozed off.

Peter looked over and smiled at him.

“Did you enjoy going out?” Ray asked.

Nodding, Peter’s smile took on the odd puzzled look he’d worn earlier. Unsure what had caused it, Ray decided to continued with his original question.

“Would you like to go to the zoo tomorrow?”

The puzzlement remained. The taller man, shrugged helplessly. Ray understood immediately, and again it struck him how odd some of the things Peter had forgotten.

“Zoo? It’s a wonderful place where they keep all kind of animals for people to learn about and admire,” he explained with hearty enthusiasm.

While he wasn’t sure if Peter understood the definition, it was evident he understood Ray’s feelings. The wonderful, innocent smile lit his face and he nodded. Ray smiled and nodded in return, reaching for the light.

“Good night, Peter.”

Just before darkness claimed his quarter of the room, Ray caught the wistful sigh and sudden sorrow that filled Peter’s face. For a moment, he thought of asking. But he knew he had to give Peter some freedom. Very determinedly Ray rolled over, putting his back to Peter’s small reading lamp. After a few minutes darkness claimed the whole area.

Ray sighed, trying to get comfortable. The mattress behind him dipped and he rolled over. Peter was stretched out next to him, and as he rolled over to face him, the taller man wrapped him in a warm hug.

“Peter?” Sudden worry over Peter’s state of mind made Ray pull away to get a look at his face in the meager light.

Peter’s lips touched his, lovingly, tongue touching very lightly.

Ray jumped, falling backwards off the bed with a thump. With a shaky hand he flipped on the lamp. Peter’s emerald gaze met his as light flooded the area. Ray stared, mind whirling around the small kiss. He tried to tell himself that it had been only a brotherly expression of care. But he knew better. Even though the kiss had been quick, there had been need and passion in it.

“Peter, ... what...”

Before he could say anything else the look of confusion on Peter’s face turned to fear. With a single motion he was off the bed and nearly running for the door. Ray’s love for his friend won out over his shock, and he reached for Peter.

“Peter, wait!”

Another light chased away the darkness. “Ray?” Egon asked blurry. “What’s wrong?”

A thousand replies tumbled through Ray’s mind. Pushing to his feet, all he said was, “Nothing. I’ll handle it. Peter’s... having a nightmare.”

“You okay?” Winston asked, picking up the distress in Ray’s voice.

“Yeah. It’ll be okay.”

With that obviously not believed assurance, he grabbed his robe and hurried after Peter. He reached the hall, closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall. He had to get himself under control before he could talk to Peter. Taking a deep breath to calm what he knew was an overreaction, he considered the situation.

Peter had tried to become intimate. Why? Could a head trauma change a persons sexual orientation? Or could Peter have always harbored these desires and it had taken the trauma to loosen his restraints? How did he feel about Peter? What could he do?

The moments pause did nothing to help him. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Ray moved toward the stairs, knowing how much Peter liked the open of the roof. He stopped at the door, fighting the urge to turn around, not wanting to see the distress on Peter’s face again. 

He reached out and turned the knob; standing there was not going to clear the hurt from Peter’s eyes.

The night was warm, with no breeze to disturb the still dark. Peter was sitting on the edge of the roof, opposite the door, legs curled under him, clad only in briefs, staring into the sparkling high-rise lights. Ray’s heart melted at the lonely sight. The soft feeling forced the question on him - could he be what Peter needed? He had no answer.

“Peter?” he called gently.

There was no startled reaction, only a shift of long legs as Peter turned to him. The loneliness was easy to read on Peter’s open features. But there was also unexplained questions written there. Peter rose and came to Ray, standing only inches away, staring at him. Ray met the emerald gaze unflinching. He desperately hoped Peter would find the answers he sought but knew no way to help him.

Peter’s hand lightly stroked Ray’s cheek but the look in his eyes was hesitate. Very slowly Peter leaned forward. Ray tried to tell himself that it was for Peter but he flinched when Peter’s lips touched his. Peter moved away instantly.

Hating the rejection he knew he would see, Ray looked up at his friend. There was no sorrow, no look of hurt or rejection. The dark eyes held only a slight doubt that even as Ray watched was replaced with understanding. Peter blinked, as if just accepting something.

“Peter, I’m sorry, I...”

Peter’s finger blocked his voice. With a sigh, Peter pointed very firmly to himself, then to his mouth. Ray smiled slightly, it may not have been ASL but he understood it. Peter wanted to do the talking.

The next series of gestures were carefully thought out, their importance betrayed by the hardening of Peter’s expression. He pointed first to himself, then made a sweeping gesture to the city spread out around them, finally emphatically he shook his head. It didn’t connect for Ray and he shrugged blankly, still too shocked by the whole evenings events. Peter frowned, frustration showing.

Ray tried to think of something, some questions that would be easy to answer. Nothing came. Nodding in consideration, Peter grabbed Ray’s hand and hauled him downstairs. They came to a halt in front of Peter’s locker. Ray smiled as he remembered Peter’s pleasure when Winston had pointed to his name and the Ghostbuster emblem on the jumpsuit. Now Peter stood in front of the same door and very purposefully, he pointed first to himself, then to the word PETER. Next he pointed to himself and the word VENKMAN, this was followed by a strong negative shake. Finally, he pointed to the colorful emblem and with a sad smile shook his head again.

His meaning jumped into startling clarity. No, a head trauma didn’t change a person’s sexual orientation. No, it hadn’t loosen long held feelings. Ray took a sharp breath.

“You’re not Peter,” he whispered.

The man in front of him nodded, expression serious and apologetic. He pointed to the uniform again, to the name, nodded, to the logo, shook.

Still dazed, Ray corrected, “You’re Peter, but not ours.”

A very strong nod was his answer.

Ray vaguely realized he should have been worried, nervous about the fact that an unknown entity was standing in front of him looking like Peter. But at that moment there were far too many other concerns to think about: where was their Peter? Could they get him back? What of the double in front of him?

They stared at each other. Hope, very gradually took hold of Ray. If this weren’t Peter, then the real Peter was just missing. Excitement entered his voice.

“Let’s get Egon,” he said.

The hot line alarms erupted, signaling another rip.

* * * * * *

The palace phased in before him. Head up and back stiff, Peter walked through the open gold doors. The magnificent hall was everything Raymond had described; cool marble touched his sandals, reflected the high crystal windows and glowed with the silver fixtures and tables. Doing his best not to gape like a tourist, Peter continued down the football field length hall, stopping when he reached the set of double ebony inlaid doors.

Steeling himself, and making note of the only other door visible, Peter entered Magna’s lair. The mood of the room was set by soft, warm colors, muted southwestern with a hint of inconsistent Russian. It seemed Magna knew no bounds in her admiration of art. There was no furniture save for the single huge bed, surrounded by thick woven rugs. The tone of the room was encouraging. Raymond had explained that Magna’s mood was often betrayed by her constantly changing decor.

Before he could scan the whole, massive room the door behind him opened. Peter whirled, found himself facing Psage. At least he hoped it was Psage. Another of Raymond’s warnings was that Magna changed appearances as often as the palace. 

A warm smile touched the small woman’s face. She seemed to know his thoughts. “It’s me, Peter. Really.”

Never in his life had Peter felt at a lose with the opposite sex but never before had he faced a women without his defenses; his quick wit and smooth talk. A sudden wave of nervousness swept over him. Vaguely, he wondered if this were how Ray sometimes felt. A lifetime of encounters, sometimes more than he wanted to think about, asserted themselves. He took Psage in a loose hug, felt the smoothness of the body warmed silk kimono shift under his hands. 

Misreading his need for closeness, Psage whispered into his ear, “I know you prefer to have Raymond here, Peter. But I promise to take good care of you.”

Taking that to mean that his was the passive role, Peter leaned back, stared into the woman’s beautiful eyes. Moving slowly, he kissed her gently. She returned it, running her fingers into his hair, slipping her tongue into his mouth. Peter felt the first trace of heat enter his blood. But Raymond had been very certain of one thing, they never started without Magna. But with his feelings and desires in near constant flux, Peter knew he had to get close now, or he would be too nervous later. He deepened the kiss, started his hands up her back, felt surprising muscles under the silk. Orange light flooded the room. Magna had arrived.

She was the color of burnished mahogany, auburn hair hanging to the bottom of her ears, curling in to frame a round face with chocolate colored eyes. She was wearing only thin gold chains at wrist, ankle, waist and throat. The gold highlighted her firm body and soft skin. Peter stepped away from Psage, bowed slightly, partially in awe at the flow of power around the sorceress and partially in desperation to do something. Magna smiled, the even white teeth glinting in the subdued lighting of the room.

“Welcome, Peter,” she whispered, voice soft as candlelight. 

He smiled, holding his position, letting her make the move to him. She floated, literally toward him, arms outstretched. Psage moved quickly aside, a hint of fear in her lovely eyes. Peter ignored it, ignored the primal urge to duck or run. The arms closed around him, warm almost to the point of heat.  
The hug was firm, possessive but short. Magna moved back, ran a finger over the still visible bruise on his cheek.

“My poor pet,” she crooned. “I’m certain that Raymond will take better care of you from now forward.”

Peter flinched, suddenly realizing the cause of Raymond’s injuries. He gritted his teeth against the injustice, somehow forced it into a smile. Magna leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

“You are,” she said pulling back, “after all my favorite.”

Spinning away, she reached a long, elegant arm toward Psage. “As are you, lovely Psage.”

Drawing her into the circle, Magna turned her attention to the smaller woman, kissing her slowly, deeply. Peter watched in fascination. The contrast of fair and dark, the overt sensuality of the women pressed together, brought a surge of lust into his veins. There was no denying the attraction, the idea of having both of them. Peter took a deep breath, drawn to the erotic beauty.

Magna laughed. Her hand drifted down Peter’s chest, reached for the single clasp that held his short tunic, a snap and he was nude before her. Unsure of what to do now, he took the initiative and reached to unclasp Psage’s forest green one-shouldered robe. She looked startled by his move and for one fearful moment Peter thought he’d overstepped what this world’s Peter would have done. The fear dampened his desire, and he considered backing away. But the surprise on Psage’s soft face, was quickly, replaced with delight.

“So,” Magna purred, “our Peter is eager tonight.”

Encouraged but cautious, Peter hesitantly touched Psage’s cheek. In answer, Psage ran her hands down his chest. Magna made no more to join them. The thought of her watching chilled some of the heat in Peter’s blood. He let his mind drift away from it, knowing that if he couldn’t get through this, tomorrow, when Magna summoned Raymond as well, they would be doomed. He narrowed his vision, let his senses feed his fire, let only the lovely lady in his arms claim his attention. 

Deciding on impulse that boldness might confuse or at least distract Magna, he wrapped his hands around Psage’s narrow waist and lifting her, urging her legs around his hips. She laughed again, gripping him with tight enthusiasm. He carried her past Magna, lay her lightly on the black velvet covered bed.

She wiggled further up into the softness, pulling him down on top of her. Her firm breasts pressed against him, sending waves of heat along his nerves. Pushing up on both elbows, he smiled down at her. He opened his mouth to say something in praise of her beauty, fought down his frustration as nothing came out. At that moment, though he hated it, he admitted that Raymond had been right to deaden his voice, the passion had barely ignited and already he would have given himself away.

Thoughts of anything but Psage vanished as she ran her hands down his chest, leaving trails of desire. He answered the only way he could, he took her in a deep kiss, teasing entry into her mouth, feeling the desire returned in her easy welcome. Breaking the kiss gently, he started a slow trail of kisses down her shoulder, across her breast, barely nipping the erect nipples. She groaned deep in her throat and Peter felt an answering ripple in his own stomach.

Time vanished into pleasure. They rolled, changing position smoothly, enticing and exciting each other. Psage’s hands teased and fired, tongue laying hot paths down to his groin. Peter watched in hazy lust as the dark hair fell in silky curtains around his cock. The breath hissed between his teeth as Psage’s mouth slipped slowly down the solid shaft. He threw his head back into the pillows, barely controlling the urge to thrust, letting her set the pace. He looked across the room at Magna. It was a mistake.

She was sitting very straight in a chair that hadn’t been there before. There was a soft sunlight colored glow around her. Her eyes were closed but she was breathing hard, writhing slowly, moving as if it were her that Peter was pleasuring. Peter stared, knowing immediately that she was feeding off their sexual energy. As his disgust started to build, Psage took advantage of his distraction, moving to straddle him.

Leaning forward she once again claimed his mouth, slid her tongue against his. As the same moment, she slid down his wet shaft, taking him in one smooth down stroke. Peter gasped, thrusting up, completing their union. Magna was forgotten as Psage began to move, slowly at first, tiny rolls of her hips, forward as much as up. Her body gripped him, tight muscles begging, urging him to move. The effect was slow fire, the first sparks in dry grass. 

He wanted it to last, wanted it over so that he wouldn’t feed Magna. Lust took him and he began to move with maddening slowness, pushing into swollen velvet, easing out, dragging gasps and moans from Psage with each move. Reaching up, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her down, rolling her over and under him. Her hips rose to meet each downward stroke. He leaned forward, thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. The heat transferred, leaving a floating to take him, under him Psage was panting, moaning his name. He dropped his head down, one hand moving under her to raise her hips, holding her while he drove deep, cock frictioning against soft covered bone. 

Psage let out a little cry, her body clamping down hard on his overheated cock. It was all he needed, the heat that had drained down to his shaft exploded, melding them together. They held there for a moment, entwined. Slowly, the last of his energy faded, Peter slipped sideways to lay next to the lovely lady.

With no voice, he pushed himself up on one elbow, gazed down into Psage’s dark eyes and smiled his pleasure. She returned his smile, stretching back then bringing her hands down his sweaty back, kneading the loose muscles. He kissed her lightly on the end of the nose. She wiggled in answer, rolling toward him and burying herself comfortably in his arms.

Only when she was safe and content did Peter allow himself to look toward their captor. Magna was gone.

Hope and fear leapt into Peter’s stomach. He wanted to move, wanted to start exploring immediately. He didn’t. He held his position, controlling his impatience. Making a note of the sun’s position overhead, he turned his thoughts toward trying to remember what he could about power absorption and spells. To his dismay, he didn’t remember much. One thing did stand out, the subject of the charge would have a considerable amount of power but it would fade quickly, leaving her in need of recovery. That much fit with what Raymond had told him about Magna disappearing for a long period after each “session.” 

“Peter?” Psage interrupted his deep thinking.

He glanced over sheepishly, lightly kissing her nose again while rubbing her neck. With a soft hand she stroked her forehead.

“I’m certain that Magna will summon Raymond tomorrow,” she said, misreading his thoughts.

Vaguely remembering what he could of Egon’s attempts to teach him ASL, he pointed to her, then to himself and joined his two hands together. She understood, smiling widely, she returned the kiss.

“I love you too, Peter.”

With that said, she lay her head on his shoulder and nestled in close. “Magna will want to join us the next time. You should sleep.”

Peter nodded, having no intention of doing that but needing her to sleep so he could get on with his exploration. He wrapped her tightly in his arms, feeling protective toward the small lady. Eventually, against his arm Psage’s breathing evened out, became soft. Peter smiled down at her. He had no delusions that what he was about to do was anything but dangerous. His one prayer was that if he were caught only he would be punished and not his innocent bedmate. Swallowing, he sighed heavily, knowing he could not even protest her innocence in his crime. Peter cursed himself for his negative thinking. Easing off the bed, he knew the time had come to take action if any of them were to get home. 

Searching, he decided, was going to be difficult and easy. He didn’t know what he was looking for but with only one other door in the building it wouldn’t be a long search. Swallowing against his nervousness, suddenly remembering the bruises on Raymond’s face, he went into the hall. The door stood closed and beckoning, with a quick glance around he gripped the handle and twisted slowly. He edged it open just enough to see around it. He flinched, waiting for the squeak. Nothing sounded, the door opened a precious six inches without a sound. 

Peter peered around the edge, holding his breath. Nothing grabbed him, nothing large appeared ready to eat him. The room was a study, dark and filled with books on three of the four walls; in the center a three dimensional map of the solar system spun on lazy circles. Other arcane objects decorated the floor, lay in occult designs around the edges of the bookshelves. 

All of this was observed in one glance before his eyes were drawn to the fourth wall, a single piece of glass that extended from the polished granite floor to the vaulted ceiling. The glass was not clear, rather it moved, flowed with images and colors. Peter squinted but couldn’t make out anything. Then he noticed the chair directly in front of the glass. There was someone in the chair, their complete attention on whatever they saw in the glass.

Peter knew it had to be Magna. But the young temptress was gone now, replaced by a older woman; the beauty still shown in the silver hair and slightly lined face but it was a cold, threatening beauty. She gestured, chanting in a language that Peter didn’t recognize. The glassy images spun faster but stayed murky. Making a violent gesture with her hands, she screamed in frustration, spinning around and slamming the chair hard enough to knock it several feet. Peter ducked back, waiting a minute before daring to peek around. She was chanting again; the words she tried this time were in yet another language, sounding a bit like Latin. The response this time was obvious, the glass cleared.

Panic and hope tickled in equal measure through Peter’s veins. In the clearing glass he could see the skyline of New York. The image moved, narrowing, becoming dark for a moment then showing what seemed to be an underground parking garage. The hope blossomed like a fireball as though the glass he could clearly see Egon and Winston, aiming their throwers at the dimensional hole. It took every ounce of strength he had not to run toward the glass. But Magna stood between him and it.

Magna stopped chanting. Rising, she moved to the glass, reached slowly out and put her hand through it into Peter’s world. There was a moments pause and then she screamed. Leaping back she cradled her hand to her firm breast, cursing long in old English. The image of New York was gone, replaced with the glow of daylight on white sand outside the palace. Magna spun again, still cursing - and spotted Peter before he could retreat. Peter jumped, tried to move but found his legs wouldn’t work. Magna floated toward him, her features fading from silver maturity to golden spring. 

Her hand stroked his cheek, and she smiled. “Peter, my sweet pet.”

Fear gripped him. He tried to smile, tried to move but could only stand helpless in front of her. Still smiling, she stepped back, raised her hand. Agony ripped through him, the world vanishing into red haze. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.

* * * * * *

“I hate when you’re right, Egon,” Winston complained loud enough to be heard over the breaking of windows.

The rip was indeed larger than the last one, filling a considerable amount of the riverside parking garage. Egon eyed it as he would have a conscious entity. The meter in his hand was clicking, the seriousness of the readings reflected in the grim look in his azure eyes. Hanging doggedly on to a support column, Ray waited in silence, knowing the readings would help later but wishing that Egon would hurry. He was beginning to worry about the roof above them. Next to him, Peter stood close by, watching everything. His hands were white around the thrower he was holding.

He must have felt the gaze, the wide green eyes connected with Ray’s. Peter smiled gamely, hoisted the nozzle to signal his willingness to help. There had never been any doubt in Ray’s mind that Peter should come. Despite not knowing the man’s real nature, the past few days had built a bond between them. Ray was certain they were equally confused by the events they were caught in and having realized the truth he was only interested in solving it. Smiling back, Ray gave him a thumbs up, which ended abruptly as the building shifted, forcing him to grab the concrete again.

“Egon?” Ray yelled. “Now?”

Egon adjusted the meter, frowning under the twist of gold hair. “The readings are showing abnormalities from the last two sets of...” His voice was drowned out by an ominous groan from the floor above them. 

“Now, Egon!?” Winston urged. A piece of concrete thudded into the shaking floor next to him. He raised his thrower.

“No!” Egon suddenly yelled. “Out! We have to clear the area!”

Not sure what was going on but perfectly willing to believe the tall scientist, Ray slammed his thrower into position and turned for the exit. Egon and Winston were slightly ahead of him, sprinting toward the daylight. He had taken several running strides before he realized Peter was not with him. Whirling, he saw Peter staring in stunned amazement into the rip.

“Ray!” Winston yelled.

Looking over his shoulder he waved to Egon and Winston, signaling them to go on. He ran back to Peter.

“Peter!” He grabbed the man’s arm, dragging him back.

With a surprising surge of strength, Peter jerked free. Desperate glittering eyes connected with Ray’s and Peter pointed frantically at the rip. Ray sparred a glance at what held his companion in this dangerous position. Through a rain of dust and hail of concrete, Ray could make out images in the rip; a fine marble palace sparkled under a clear blue sky. Peter took a step forward, drawn by the image.

“Peter, no!” Ray grabbed him by both arms. “It’s unstable. You can’t go in there!”

With a twist Peter threw him, somehow landing him on the ground firmly enough to shake him without hurting him. Peter moved for the hole again. Ray surged forward, coming up on his knees and grabbing Peter’s ankle, tripping him. Peter went down hard, harder than Ray intended as the floor rose to met him. Still, he managed to flip over, intending to kick Ray free. From the peripheral of Ray’s vision Egon appeared on one side of Peter, Winston on the other.

“Peter!” Egon said sharply. “We have to evacuate. The anomaly is...”

Peter continued to struggle against them, fighting to get free. Winston’s fist flashed out, stunning Peter with one quick blow to the chin. The man’s leg went limp under Ray’s hand.

“I’ve got him!” Winston shouted, hoisting Peter in an awkward one armed fireman’s carry.

Against the building shaking, Ray struggled to his feet, Egon’s strong hand under his elbow the only reason he made it in one try. With Winston leading the way they ran for daylight. With less than a dozen yards to the entrance, there was a thunderous explosion behind them. Ray slammed into Egon, shoving him down and covering him even as he watched Winston do the same for Peter. 

The echoes bounced off the walls, rippled through them like too much bass at a rock concrete. Ray lay still, praying for it to end, wondering if this was what a person in an earthquake experienced. It took several seconds for him to realize that the sound and fury had died. Still in a daze, he sat up.

“Okay?” he asked in general.

“I believe broken ribs would heal better if I could take a short vacation,” Egon said in a strained voice. 

“Okay over here,” Winston confirmed.

Ray turned to Peter as he struggled up. The man merely stared at him, then looked to where the rip had been. Very slowly a single tear tracked through the dust on his face.

* * * * * *

Someone was crying. Peter vaguely wondered about it, but it seemed too much effort to wake up and investigate. More sounds came from the same long distance. Still, he ignored them. It was only when something touched his back that reality crashed into painful clarity. He would have sat up with a cry but neither his muscles nor his voice would respond.

“Peter?” Raymond called.

He was face down, that was the first thought to follow the pain. Gritting his teeth, he turned his head and forced his eyes open. Raymond was kneeling next to him, fear glittering in his amber eyes. Peter studied him for a moment, unsure of who the emotion was for. The image of Psage appeared in his mind. He started to try to talk again, to ask, when the feel of small hands on his back drew his attention. With a great effort he turned his head in the other direction.

Psage was also kneeling next to the bed, tears streaking her round face. He tried to reach for her but she grabbed his hand, holding it to the feather bed. “It is well, Peter,” she whispered. “Raymond will take care of you. Sleep now.”

Her other hand stroked slowly down his cheek but he couldn’t feel it, all he could feel was the burning that claimed his whole body. He twisted, trying to escape it, burying his face against the soft cotton cover. The sound of Psage crying faded for a moment.

When sound returned it was the almost inaudible clink of ceramic. The pain was still there, circling like a pack of hungry dogs. But for the moment something was holding it at bay, something warm that covered his back. He groaned and was rewarded with real, if slightly hoarse, sound. Movement in the room let him know he was not alone.

“Peter?” Raymond questioned quietly.

“Yes,” Peter answered with relief. He could hear Egon telling him that he had always admired his own voice. Slowly, Peter opened his eyes, looking up at the other man. “What happened?”

“Magna caught you,” Raymond said bluntly. He sat down on the bed, taking Peter’s hand in his.

Memories of the trip to the palace returned with a jar. “Psage?” Peter suddenly remembered. “Is she okay?”

“If you are asking whether she is in good health, the answer is yes. Magna punished only you.”

Peter let his forehead drop to the pillow. “Good. I was afraid...” A wave of pain rolled from his hips to his shoulders, turning his words into a gasp.

The strong hand on his squeezed, drawing his attention. “Lay still,” Raymond ordered softly. “The poultice will help ease the burning.”

“What did she do to me?” Peter wondered.

A cool cloth bathed his face. “It is like being whipped but it happens in an instant.”

Raymond released his hand and a second later something icy trickled down his back. Peter realized the liquid was being dribbled on a layer of linen covering his back. The smell struck him at first as strong and too sweet but slowly it seemed to soak into his bones, easing the tightness of his muscles and fading the pain into a manageable haze. Much to his surprise the haze didn’t extend to his thinking.

“Magna can’t summon us with me like this,” he observed.

“Yes, she will,” Raymond answered. “She’ll heal you first.”

Peter twisted his head, stared up at Raymond. “Heal me?”

Raymond pointed to the faint scar that ran along his throat. “She caused this. To make Peter behave. She didn’t wish me dead, only punished. After an appropriate period, she will heal you.” Shadows darkened the brown eyes. “This was only a score of days after she killed Winston.”

That mere thought sent a shiver through Peter. “What happened to Winston and Egon?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

Raymond drew away, though it wasn’t physical, it was a turning inward, into a place filled with sad memories. Despite the pain it caused him, Peter moved his hand up, and lay it on Raymond’s forearm. The touch broke the man away from his sorrow. 

Softly Raymond started talking. “It was soon after we arrived. From the way of things I think Magna had only just started to collect subjects in this place. Some of her... methods were more varied and cruel, as if she were trying to discover what worked best. She wanted Winston to take... a new girl, a virgin, a child. He refused. She started chanting and this... thing appeared out of the air. It ignored the rest of us, grabbed Winston and... when it dropped him, he was dead.”

His eyes met Peter’s, filled with a strange wastefulness. “I think sometimes he was the lucky one.”

Peter’s hand tightened. “Don’t ever think that,” he said harshly.

Raymond continued as if he hadn’t heard Peter’s outrage. “Egon went next. He knew a bit of magic and he’d been watching the supply caravans.” He stared out the open door, into the prefect blue and yellow day. “He didn’t tell us what he was planning, he knew it was very dangerous. Using a spell he made himself appear to be one of the camel drivers.”

He paused, swallowed. “The traders fear Magna. One of them brought him back three days later. They had caught him... they left him in the desert with no water... no shade.”

Peter took a sharp breath, seeing the horrible picture and feeling the cut of pain as if it had been his Egon. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Still deep in thought, Raymond added, “She killed the man for killing Egon.”

Peter frowned, sensing the growing desperation. Hoping to make him feel better, Peter said, “I know how we can get Peter back.”

Raymond’s response was surprising. He pushed off the bed. “You should rest,” he said rather sharply. As if regretting that, he added levelly, “Soon you can sit up and take some soup.”

As he started to move off, Peter reached for him, nearly crying out at the reawakened pain. “Stop!” he gasped.

The other man whirled, grabbing him with controlled strength. “Please don’t,” he begged.

“I won’t,” Peter promised. “But we need to talk, to plan.”

Again Raymond moved, standing and turning his back to Peter. He crossed his arms in front of him and very calmly said, “I don’t want Peter back.”

Before Peter could recover, Raymond retreated toward the kitchen, leaving the surprising statement hanging. Peter took a deep breath. The drug Raymond had given him was controlling the pain, barely, but he knew what he was about to do would over ride that tenuous control. He did it anyway, pushing slowly up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Fire ran along his back and he bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. With grim determination, he made it to his feet.

The agony built with each step but he made it to the door, grabbed the glided edge and stayed up. Raymond was leaning against the sink, holding on with a white knuckled grip. His shoulders were shaking but there was no sound. The sorrow rolled off the man in waves, catching Peter and clouding his own eyes with tears. 

“I don’t understand,” he pleaded. 

Raymond took a sharp breath but didn’t turn or straightened.

“I thought you loved Peter?” Peter asked quietly, refusing to acknowledge the shaking in his knees.

For a moment he didn’t think he would get an answer, then very softly, Raymond said, “I do love Peter.” He turned and faced his new companion, unashamed of the tears running down his face. “I love Peter more than... whatever it is you hold holy in your world. I love him more than my own life could ever hope to convey.”

“Then...”

“I love him enough not to want him back in this living hell.”

It was so simple that Peter cursed himself for not seeing it. He released the wall with one hand, stretched out his other toward Raymond - and his knees buckled. With a cry he threw his arms out to catch himself. He never hit the floor, Raymond was there, strong arms catching him and drawing him close as they sank to the floor together. Pain clouded Peter’s sight, cut off his breathing for a moment. When he was aware again he was leaning against Raymond’s strong shoulder, turned so that his back was not resting on anything.

“Easy, Peter. I have you. Breath slow,” Raymond’s soft voice told him.

Peter looked up into love glittering in the amber eyes. He knew it wasn’t love he could claim; it belonged to the image he wore, not to him. But as the claws raked his back again he needed the strong arms, needed to know he was not alone. He leaned against Raymond’s shoulder and gave into his pain, tears falling against Raymond’s bare chest. The large hands stroked, Raymond whispered assurance, promised relief, and somehow it all seemed to draw the pain away. Peter felt himself begin to drift, and a single kiss fell against his temple. He forced his head up.

There tears were in Raymond’s eyes again. “By the Sand’s, you are so much like him.”

Raymond leaned forward, pressing quickly against Peter’s slightly open lips. He stared down into Peter’s eyes, searching for his reaction. Peter only stared back, the kiss too quick to leave him any emotion.

There was a million things he could have said but only one mattered. “Did you really think I was gonna run off and leave you guys here?” Peter demanded hoarsely.

“What?” His return to the problem took Raymond by surprise.

“I said I would get Peter back,” he took a quick breath. “What I should have said was that we... are going to stop Magna and get... everyone out of here.”

He wanted to say more, wanted to explain his plan, his confidence that the guys were by now working to find him. But the pain was returning, taking his breath and consciousness. Raymond must have sensed it for Peter was suddenly hoisted over the man’s shoulder and carried back to the bed, made to lay face down again.

Just before the room spun out of his vision, he said, “We will get everyone out.”

* * * * * *

Egon and Winston stared at him, obviously doubting his sanity. Winston leaned back against Peter’s desk, Egon straightened in the chair.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ray started. “And I didn’t get hit on the head. This isn’t our Peter.”

There was a long still few minutes. Egon and Winston again exchanged looks, then, very gingerly, Egon rose, started pacing. “The biorhythm readings did pick up one slight change that I accredited to the head trauma. Perhaps there is more here than there seems.”

“Why don’t we ask Peter about it?” Winston suggested.

Ray flinched at the suggestion. “He’s stopped talking to me. He’s mad about us not letting him go through the rip. I don’t think...”

The object of their concern walked through the door, coming directly over to stand in front of them. He stared hard at Ray for a long moment, then sighed heavily. He pointed to himself, then to the lockers. Holding up a finger on each hand he crossed his arms. The anger in the emerald eyes was crowded out by a single question that Ray understood immediately.

“Yes, Peter,” he said firmly, “we can get you and Peter back to the right places.”

Peter’s head dropped. When he looked back up into Ray’s eyes, he smiled very gently. Ray reached out and gripped his arm. Understanding and forgiveness was all conveyed in the few small gestures. Winston and Egon watched the exchange with raised eyebrows. 

Finally, Winston stepped up to the taller Ghostbuster and asked bluntly, “You’re not Peter?”

Peter shook his head, pointing at Raymond. Raymond knew what he was trying to say. “He is Peter,” Ray repeated. “But not our version.”

With a loud whoosh, Winston admitted his belief. “Then where is our version?”

“We think that somehow they were switched during the first encounter of the rip,” Ray explained.

“We located Peter on the tracks,” Egon said matter of factly, absently stroking his chin. “We assumed he fell there after the anomaly was gone, during the buildings collapse.”

“But if he fell through the rip and this Peter was somehow drawn in at the same time,” Ray, sounding sure of his theory, “then they switched.”

“Peter didn’t fall through the rip,” Winston suddenly announced, looking surprised. “I just realized - I saw Peter throw backwards, into the interior wall. He couldn’t have fallen through the rip.”

“Why didn’t you say something when we found him on the tracks outside?” Ray asked intensely.

Winston shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t think about it, it didn’t seem important. I just figured he had been thrown out there by the explosion.”

“He didn’t fall through the rip,” Egon repeated softly.

He paced the length of the room. When he turned back to them there was glimmer of excitement in the blue eyes. Ray’s heart took a leap, he recognized that spark. Peter must have sensed the new urgency, he moved up next to Ray, looking from him to the tall blond.

“Egon?” Ray urged.

“I believe I may have a theory about what is causing the rips. Ray, we need to go over the last readings I took.” Egon stepped forward, took Peter’s arm. “We need to understand what on the other side of the dimensional rip might be causing this.”

“I’ll start comparing the readings” Ray said.

“Ray, perhaps Peter would feel better if you were there to help translate,” Egon suggested.

Peter smiled, tapped Egon’s chest with one finger and gestured toward the stairs.

“Oh,” Egon said, understanding. “Never mind.”

“I’d better check the packs,” Winston said, heading off. 

“I think you’d be better helping Egon,” Ray said. 

“Me?” Winston asked.

“Yes,” Egon agreed. “You are very adept at following mysteries, Winston. In this circumstance, you may be able to think of questions that will be easier for Peter to answer.”

Winston nodded. “Okay. You know, using a blackboard might help.”

As a single unit, they went up the stairs to the lab.

* * * * * *

“Come again?” Janine said sharply. “What do you mean, he isn’t Peter?”

Ray picked up the coffee pot she had delivered. The only words they had exchanged until this moment was when he had told her to hold all calls. That had been five hours earlier. They had been forced to call a break, all tried and hungry. Peter smiled sheepishly up at her, chewing thoughtfully. Janine frowned, unsure if her leg were being pulled.

“So, who’s this guy and where’s the real thing?” she asked skeptically.

“That is what we have been attempting to ascertain,” Egon said tiredly.

Ray saw the truth hit her. She knew Egon would never joke about something as serious as Peter missing. She sat down with a bit of a thump, eyeing Peter warily over her upswept glasses. For a moment there was only the sound of chewing and the distant echo of constant traffic.

“Well,” Janine finally asked, “what have you found out?”

Carrying his bologna sandwich, Ray walked to the blackboard. There were four columns on it labeled - good, bad, yes, and no; below those were two small drawings, one which looked like a large building layout and the other the overview of a small town. There was also a row of harsh marks on the bottom.

Ray pointed. “We know this version came from the other side of the dimensional anomaly. We know everyone on the other side is a captive of a magic entity, a female. We know it can travel into other dimensions and the rip is probably an attempt to come into our world.”

He came back over and stood next to Peter, put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We know there is a version of me there and that the entity killed that world’s Winston and Egon.”

“Which is why Peter freaked when he saw us,” Winston added.

Egon took over. “What we don’t know is what type of entity we are dealing with.”

“And that makes a difference in how we fight it,” Winston finished.

“How about why?” Janine suddenly commented.

“What?” Egon asked.

“No, why,” Janine cracked. “Why is she keeping these people? Are they pets... breeding stock... laborers?”

The three Ghostbusters stared at each other. Ray looked chagrined. “We didn’t even ask. That’s a great idea, Janine!”

“Yes,” Egon agreed, lunch forgotten. “Knowing why could very well lead to an understanding of the type of...”

“Peter,” Winston interrupted Egon’s speech. “Do you know why you’re being kept there?”

It was a more complicated question than Peter had been asked to convey. Ray exchanged a quick glance with his two companions, wondering if they saw the dilemma. A quick nod from the other two assured him they did. When he looked at Peter the emerald eyes were dark with concentration. After a minute, Peter stood and walked to the stove. Flicking on the first burner, he pointed to the flame. The others stared blankly, lunch forgotten. Peter pointed insistently, leaving them nothing to do but guess.

“I hate charades,” Janine commented dourly.

“Fire?” Ray wondered. “Heat, cooking, warmth, light...”

All his guesses gained him were harder shakes of Peter’s head. Holding up his hand Peter signaled him to stop. With the flame still on he held his hands up as if he were holding a thrower. He pantomimed the kickback of shooting.

“Force?” Winston tried.

“Power,” Egon said suddenly.

Peter nodded.

“Power?” Ray questioned. “It gets it’s power from the captives?”

“How could it do that?” Janine picked up.

“Physical labor,” Winston asked, receiving a negative reply.

Again Peter took control of the situation, very direct control. Striding over to Janine he wrapped her in a tight embrace, tipped her back and kissed her long and deep. Ray smiled at the dazed look on her face when he righted her - and was taken completely by surprise when Peter did the same thing to him. The kiss was hot and over before he had time to react. When Peter pulled away there was a so familiar light of devilment in his eyes that Ray could only smile.

“Sex,” Egon said with as much certainty as he’d used when guessing power. “It uses the captives to generate sexual energy.”

Peter nodded confirmation.

“That’s terrible!” Ray declared.

“But not uncommon,” Egon said thoughtfully.

“Does knowing that help?” Janine questioned.

“Yes,” Egon said rising. “There are many examples of demons using sex as a power source.”

“Does that mean we’re dealing with something the throwers will be able to handle?” Janine said, sounding very much like a Ghostbuster.

“Yes,” Egon said firmly. 

“But none of this explains the explosion of the last rip,” Winston reminded them. “Or why our Peter disappeared into an area no where near the rip.”

“I may have figured out that one,” Ray spoke up. “The energy she is using is unstable. She’s trying to come into this world but it’s creating a backwash - an eddy Peter fell into. The same for this Peter.”

“And the critter that came through?” Winston reminded them. “What the hell was that?”

Peter stepped forward. He gestured to Winston, then made the sign they had agree on for the sorceress, he followed that with a silent growl and raking motion. Looking very sad he made a harsh slashing motion across his throat. 

“That monster was sent by the sorceress?” Ray guessed.

Peter shrugged on that but repeated the motions involving Winston.

“A monster like that killed your Winston?” Winston guessed gently.

Peter nodded.

Egon had taken on his thoughtful scientist look. “If you are correct Ray, the creature was pulled in by mistake. Also, the entity will never be able to enter this world by the method she is pursuing. Any entrance into the dimensional wrap she is creating will cause an explosion at this end and possible damage to the entity trying to transfer.”

“Okay,” Winston conceded. “If that’s true, how do we get into the other dimension and back out again.”

“The backwash,” Ray said firmly. “When the rip appears we can use the meters to locate the real way through. And we already have a way back, the device we used to rescue Egon from Tolay’s domain.”

Excitement started filling the air. Winston looked over at Egon and Ray. “So, are you guys telling me it’s time to charge the packs?”

Absently pushing his glasses up with one finger, Egon said calmly, “I will inquire into Tobins to ascertain as to more exact details of this type of demon. Ray, we will need to adjust the transfer device to allow our escape from that dimension.” He stepped closer to Ray and Peter, azure gaze glittering with suppressed excitement. “However, I would say that we are indeed very close to a rescue mission.”

Peter grabbed the tall scientists arm, pointing to the board again, to the village drawing. Egon smiled, a real smile compounded of the joy of getting his friend back and taking care of an entity that would use people so badly. He returned the grip on Peter’s hand. 

“Everyone comes, Peter. We will attempt to return them to their own worlds but barring that we will try to make them happy here.”

Suddenly Peter was hugging everyone, lifting Ray off his feet and spinning him around. 

“Easy, Peter,” Ray laughed. “We have a lot to do and not much time to do it.”

* * * * * *

Very gently, Raymond eased Peter up onto a pile of pillows. Once settled, Peter took the cup of tea offered to him, sipping slowly. The room wasn’t swimming any more, though the pain still beat through him like a bass drum. He shifted again, turning so that he leaned on one side. Raymond then lay a pile of linen under Peter’s buttocks. Peter glanced over his shoulder.

“What?” he wondered.

Raymond held up a bowl of the same stuff he’d used before to relieve some of the torment. “To catch the mixture.”

Sitting next to him, Raymond dribbled some of the liquid over his back. Peter gasped as the warm fluid trickled down his back. Very slowly, the burning subsided. Peter shifted, leaning against Raymond.

“Tell me your plan,” Raymond ordered.

Peter had been expecting the question, and dreading it. He knew that Raymond was not going to like the plan. He was not thrilled with it himself.

“I could see my friends through the portal Magna was conjuring in front of,” he said bluntly.

Raymond stiffened. “Could you see Peter?”

“No,” he answered softly. “Only Egon and Winston. But I’m sure the others were there.”

“Go on,” Raymond said, starting his treatment again.

Peter’s eyes connected with the amber gaze. “She’s trying to get through, instead of just grabbing people. You and I are going to make a run for it. Once we’re on my side of reality, all of us will come back and kick ass on that bitch.”

A faint smile lifted Raymond’s mouth at his ferocity but it faded quickly. “A bold plan, Peter. And one that will not work.”

“Why not?”

“She will kill us before we can reach the entrance to your world,” Raymond said levelly.

Peter smiled slightly. “I don’t think so. Magna’s a spellcaster. That means to do anything she has to chant to make it happen. It will take her several seconds to do that. That’s our chance. She shouldn’t have enough time to do anything before we’re through.”

The dark eyes sparked with interest. “What exactly must we do?”

“Simple, when the glass clears, we run for it,”

Raymond was unconvinced, but he wanted to be. “If we are successful, what will occur then?”

“My team has devices for traveling into other dimensions,” Peter said intently. “And we have ways of stopping creatures like Magna. I promise, Raymond, we will come back here and rescue the others.”

Raymond stood, walked slowly away, then back. He crossed his arms, stared down at Peter. Vaguely Peter realized he was holding his breath, waiting for Raymond’s answer. He could go it alone but he wanted the other man with him, for support as well as to save Raymond from possible harm after he made his escape.

The familiar eyes met his, Raymond nodded. “Very well, Peter. We will make the attempt.”

Peter would have hugged him if it had been possible to move. He had to settle for smiling and grabbing Raymond’s hand. Raymond sank down next on the bed, took Peter in a loose hug.

After a minute, Raymond eased away. “Peter, what about the people left? What happens to them while we are on the other side?”

Peter frowned, not only because he had considered the possibilities, but also because Raymond sounded very much like Ray at that moment. “I don’t think she’ll destroy the place,” he said firmly. “These people are her power source. The best we can hope for is that she will think we’ve died in the attempt and will just accept the loss of two pets.”

Raymond grew silent, once again picking up the bowl of healing liquid.

Peter looked up at him. “Scared?”

Meeting his gaze levelly, Raymond said, “Yes, for more reasons than you can know.”

Once again the soothing liquid flowed down Peter’s back and into the pile of linen at his waist. He hissed at the first touch then relaxed, leaning on Raymond.

“Explain them to me,” he said quietly.

“I am afraid of your world,” Raymond admitted. “It would be very hard to live there knowing nothing of it.”

Peter had also thought of that when he’d come up with his plan. “Ray and Egon have many contacts with malevolent mages that can help. It may take awhile but we will get everyone home.”

Silence settled around them. It struck Peter as odd, how comfortable he felt leaning against the other man, how easy it was, for just a moment to let him take the weight and worry. His back sent another wave of pain to disturbing his comfort, forcing him to shift. Raymond sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish there was more I could do.”

Peter patted his knee. “It’ll be okay.” Trying to joke, he said, “Gives me another reason for hoping Magna calls soon.”

He had meant it to be light but at the end his nervousness overrode his joking. A second later a gentle hand slipped to cup his chin and urge his head up. Concern colored Raymond’s expression.

“Peter, I won’t do anything to harm you,” Raymond promised softly. The grip on his chin became a stroke along his neck. “If you imagine someone else perhaps, if you imagine Psage. Close your eyes, and imagine.”

Obeying the order, Peter took a slow breath and closed his eyes. He felt the bed shift under Raymond’s weight, felt the first tentative touch of lips on his. He thought about the kiss, about the soft lips and gentle hands, about the love he had seen in the amber eyes. Peter eased his mouth open, offering invitation, needing to know if he could do this. Raymond’s tongue twined with his. Peter’s hand came up, stroked Raymond’s muscled arm. He deepened the kiss, pressing harder, closer, could feel his partner’s surprise. It was Raymond who broke the kiss.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Peter was thankful for the silence, it gave him a chance to think. One kiss didn’t prove much, except that he could at least let another man close. He searched through his feelings, checking his reaction. There was no revulsion but neither was there any heat or desire. Still, for the first time he began to think he could pull it off.

“Peter,” Raymond started, “there is another thing to consider - your speaking.”

Peter drew back, knowing what Raymond was about to suggest. Raymond continued, ignoring his retreat. “I know that Magna will want us to perform for a long time. It comes down to you, Peter. One sound will mean our lives. Can you remain silent against pleasure and pain?”

It was an honest question - one that Peter had no answer for. His voice was as much a weapon to him as the throwers were, to surrender it... 

“Is there a quick fix for the herb?” he hoped.

Raymond shook his head. “Only time will cure it. Though I can give you a smaller measure.”

He faced Raymond’s original question and knew the answer. With a sigh, he agreed, “Okay.”

* * * * * *

The double chime woke Peter from a restless, painful doze. Raymond came in immediately. Peter watched the man pull a short fine silk green skirt from the closet, followed by a kimono done in gold and red. He also pulled from a jewel case the earring that Peter had been wearing upon his arrival. Raymond then joined him at the bed.

“Let me guess which one of those is mine,” Peter joked.

Raymond smiled. “It is none of my fault that Magna enjoys looking at your legs as much as I do.” Realizing his error, the shorter man flushed. “I meant as ... my Peter.. not...”

Peter patted his arm. “I got it, buddy. Now, help me up.”

A strong arm encircled his hips, hoisted him up. Then Raymond turned back to the kitchen. When he returned he was holding a cup. Peter glanced up into clear brown eyes. Raymond looked apologetic as he handed him the drink of dark green herb tea.

Peter swallowed hard, wrapping both hands around the cup. Closing his eyes, he downed the drink in a single, long gulp. Without comment he handed the cup back. Also in silence Raymond dressed first. In that few minutes, all of Peter’s doubts and fears returned. He sighed, fighting them off, remembering other times when things had seemed impossible, remembering his friends on the other side, remembering the man this Raymond loved, remembering the Ray that he loved.

“Raymond,” he said hoarsely, the undiluted herb taking his voice even faster. “If something happens to me... you try for the opening ... explain to the others... they’ll come... rescue...”

The last word faded away but he had said enough. Raymond came over and sat next to him, lay his hands on both of Peter’s shoulder. The too old eyes met his.

“Nothing will happen to you,” Raymond argued with a touch of fear in the tenor voice.

Peter shook his head, trying to tell Raymond not to be stupid. Pain washed through him, leaving helplessness and fear. He looked up pleadingly, willing Raymond to understand that he didn’t need false assurance; he needed truth, he needed to know that Raymond would not let this chance slip away.

After a long moment, Raymond broke the hold of their gazes. “Very well,” he promised, “I will get to the other side, no matter what occurs here.”

Peter smiled, and the bell chimed again.

“And so it begins,” Raymond said very seriously.

The fifty yard walk to the palace took them almost ten minutes, each step sending waves of pain through Peter. Raymond kept a secure hold on him, Peter’s arm over his shoulders, his arm around Peter’s hips, low enough not to irritate the wounds. Peter was exhausted and covered in sweat by the time they reached the doors. Vaguely, he wondered how he was expected to perform in this condition.

“Magna will take care of it, Peter,” Raymond said again, reading his thoughts with surprising clarity.

The doors opened and Peter took a deep breath, ready for the last long walk. A blinding flash stopped them, made Raymond tighten his hold. Magna stood before them, tall, blond, with blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight. She smiled and chills went down Peter’s back.

“Welcome, my loves,” she whispered. 

She stepped closer and Peter could feel Raymond fight against releasing him. The sorceress turned a sharp gaze on him. Flinching from her gaze, Raymond glanced up at Peter. Peter understood his question and nodded slightly. After making sure Peter had his balance, Raymond stepped away. Magna took his place, stroking along the wounds on his back, sending new flares of pain.

“So, dear Peter, have you learned your lesson?” she questioned.

His knees started to shake as the pain washed the strength out of his legs. Nodding as hard as he could, he took her hand, raising it and kissing gently along each finger. She laughed softly.

“Very good,” she purred.

Magna whispered a quick chant under her breath. It was shorter than Peter would have hoped. There was a sudden wind down the long hall and Magna vanished - so did Peter’s pain. It was so sudden that he would have cried out from the shock of it had he been able. He sagged in relief, felt Raymond’s strong arms hold him up. Raymond turned him enough to study his back.

“She left no scars, Peter,” he assured him.

Peter nodded, not really caring about anything at that moment except for the near orgasmic pleasure of being free of the fire. Several deep breaths later, he straightened, looked down at Raymond. Leaving his arm around Raymond’s shoulder, he smiled and gestured toward the door at the far end of the hall. 

The bedroom had changed, was now octagon shaped with red and black the dominate colors. The bed had become a massive, heavy four poster with a black velvet canopy and cover. Candles sparkled in the unnatural dark created by the blood-colored stained glass windows. The whole feel was ominous. Peter glanced quickly at Raymond, hoping the new decor might give something away. Raymond only shrugged. 

“I’ve never seen her choose these colors,” he admitted.

Peter couldn’t explain that colors had meanings in some arcane practices. And he had a very bad feeling about these colors. There was also a new piece of furniture in the room, a square table sitting next to the bed. Peter walked slowly to it, surveying the items laying on it; a fine glass vial of oil and a gold cockring. Reality returned in a rush and tension tightened his back. A warm large hand ran down his suddenly chilled flesh.

“It will be well, Peter,” Raymond promised.

A hot mouth tickled his shoulder, the beginning of a trail of butterfly light kisses that followed down along his spine and back up. At the same time, Raymond’s hands untied the short green silk wrapped around his hips. Peter tensed as the little protection he had fell away. The gentle expert touch continued very slowly. Peter sighed, releasing the last of his tension. 

Knowing it would make him more comfortable, Peter took control. He turned, wrapping Raymond in a strong hug, moving them to the bed. It was his turn to tease lightly along the other man’s lips, tongue requesting entry. He could feel Raymond’s surprise, but his mouth opened and Peter’s tongue darted in, tasting his companion for the first time. His hands ran down Raymond’s back, the feel and strength reminding Peter how useless trying to imagine someone else would be. There was no way to disguise the masculine form he was holding, no way to forget this partner was the twin of his best friend. 

Light filled the room and Peter was distracted from his musings and kiss by Magna’s arrival. The two broke apart, turning toward the sorceress. She was petite now, dark skinned, with silver blonde flowing hair that hung freely to her waist, amethyst colored eyes flashed at him. She was the most strikingly beautiful woman Peter had ever seen. Hate and revulsion swept through him, and he clung to Raymond even tighter, knowing the difference between her lust and his caring. 

She came to them, taking Peter very purposefully from Raymond’s arms, flaunting her power over the both of them. Peter was again amazed that this dimensions inhabitants could still perform under her threats. For now, he covered his disgust and anger with a warm smile and a light kiss to her cheek. 

“Oh come, Peter, my emerald love,” she teased. “Kiss me as you would Raymond.”

He did, putting every trick he knew into the kiss, sucking her tongue into his mouth, before plunging his deep into hers, running along the prefect teeth. At the same time, his hand stroked slowly up her smooth sides, tangled in the rich hair and pressed her closer. Minutes, long and filled with heat passed before he was forced to break the contact to breath. He eased away, stared at the small creature in his arms. 

Surprise and pleasure lit the incredible eyes. Very deliberately, she took a step back. He also noted with a certain sense of pride that she was breathing hard. Peter covered the smile her reaction created in him. Then, belatedly, he realized what he might have given away. He cast a panicked look toward Raymond. 

Raymond’s face held the same wide-eyed surprise as Magna’s, with just a hint of worry. The amber eyes met Peter’s and the man could only give him a small shrug of uncertainty. Peter’s eyes went back to Magna. She was smiling.

“Peter, you have been learning new tricks. I approve. I should leave you together undisturbed more often if this is the result.”

Relief made the smile Peter gave her real. As he had done before, he reached for her. To his immense relief, he was rebuffed. She pushed him firmly back to Raymond, wrapping them both within her shapely arms. Licking across Raymond’s mouth, her hands stroked Peter’s still soft cock.

“Tonight, my loves,” she whispered. “Tonight, I will want a very long evening; tonight, I will want all of you, both of you, together.”

The request sent chills along Peter’s nerves. He covered his sudden unease by pulling Raymond closer, while kissing her lightly. He released her, turning his full attention on Raymond. He’d forgotten one thing, that in this world, Raymond was use to leading. As his hand took Raymond’s arm, Raymond reached for him. There was split second of confusion, then Peter dropped his hand, took Raymond’s. Anything different would attract too much attention, so he let himself be led to the bed.

He lay back, stretching his arms out. Raymond slipped the loose kimono off his shoulders, stood for a moment. For the first time Peter looked at his companion in a physical light. Comparing him to Ray was unavoidable. There were a few more scars on Raymond’s darker skin, a little less muscle under it. As his eyes swept lower Peter ran out of comparison; as often as he’d seen Ray in the nude, during gym, sharing a bathroom in a hurry, in the hospital, he had never had any reason or desire to notice Ray’s anatomy. Raymond was well built, his heavy cock laying in a tangle of near chestnut hair.

Raymond lay down next to him, stretching out close, hands coming up to float over Peter’s chest and stomach. Peter swallowed, nerves tightening, even though he trusted Raymond not to harm him. Raymond rolled closer, leg going over Peter’s two, one hand sliding under his head, the other tracing around his ear. Peter closed his eyes, not to image another but to relax into the sensations Raymond’s touch was starting to evoke.

“Good,” Raymond whispered into his ear, tickling it with his tongue. “Relax, let yourself enjoy this, allow me to pleasure you.”

The hot mouth came down on his, Peter’s arms came up, wrapped around Raymond’s broad back, one tangling in the slightly long auburn hair. He opened his mouth, but instead of a slick invader, Raymond surprised him, sucking Peter’s tongue into his own mouth. Peter slipped deep, dueling with Raymond’s. A stirring started in his blood. Softly, like a far away echo, something told him to let go, to satisfy a question ages old and rarely acknowledged. The last of Peter’s resistance melted into desire for the forbidden, for the loss of control.

Raymond knew; Peter would never know how, but the other man took him, began to entice and arouse. The stirring took hold now, filled Peter’s blood with fire and ice. Raymond sucked hard on one nipple, fingers twisting the other. Peter arched up, pressing their growing erections together. Raymond rolled them over, sitting back on Peter’s thighs.

Reaching up, Peter urged Raymond’s head down, claimed the full lips, trusting deep in the wet mouth. A strong hand took his cock, started a slow, erotic glide up and down the hot shaft. Peter gasped, moving under the touch. Raymond’s own swollen shaft bounced against Peter’s stomach. Tentatively, Peter reached out, lightly touched the head, circling it two fingers. He was rewarded with a gust of breath from Raymond and a quickening of the pace. 

“Harder, Peter,” Raymond breathed as he broke the kiss.

Emboldened, Peter smiled. Sliding out from under the heavier man, Peter shoved him over and knelt between his legs. Never in his life had he thought about being on the giving end of a blow job but the heat had him now, the need to know everything he’d never tried. Licking his lips a little nervously, he took a slow swipe up one side, swirled his tongue around the flared head. Raymond cried out, arching up. Peter slid down the hot cock, taking it as far into his mouth as he could, swirling and sucking, remembering every delight that his various girlfriends had given him. 

He became aware of the tightness in the legs surrounding him and realized that Raymond was holding back, afraid of thrusting too hard. Peter smiled around his mouthful. With deliberate slowness he eased down the full shaft, breathing carefully through his nose, controlling his impulse to cough. He took it slowly, taking all of Raymond’s shaft. He had time to congratulate himself before he pulled back, wrapped one hand around the thick base and started sucking hard. 

“Peter, my love...” Raymond hissed between gritted teeth.

Peter knew at that moment that Raymond was lost, was not seeing him but his real lover. It pleased Peter he had done such a good job. He wanted this, wanted to feel the power of Raymond coming, wanted to share pleasure with him. Gripping harder, he slipped his other hand under the firm ass, kneading the muscles. 

Raymond moved suddenly, rolling away from him with almost desperate speed, going to his knees and bringing Peter with him. Before Peter could wonder, he was taken in a hard, hot kiss that fed the heat in his veins. Somewhere in the distance, he could feel Raymond reaching toward the table. The kiss broke and he was looking into amber eyes turned gold with excitement. Shifting back, Raymond put a little room between them. Laying light kisses along Peter shoulders, he opened the vial of oil.

Unsure of what was about to happen, and beyond caring, Peter watched, entranced as Raymond poured some of the light oil into his large hand and spread it slowly along both their cocks. He was breathing hard, Peter saw, and his hand was shaking. The task was taken with slow seriousness but when the man looked up again he was smiling.

“Take me, Peter,” he begged quietly.

Images flared, erotic, enticing, alluring. Somewhere in the back of his mind Peter wondered if the next session would demand a tradeoff - and found that image just as exciting. With a soundless laugh he admitted curiosity could be dangerous. He wrapped himself around Raymond, tipping him over onto his back. Raymond’s legs came up, snaked around Peter’s waist, held him there. Again Raymond reached for the vial, obviously intent on spreading it within himself.

Peter took the vial, pouring the oil impatiently. Using both hands he covered Raymond’s cock, dribbled the sparkling oil over the full balls, then down into the dark crevice of his ass. Peter’s fingers followed the oil, trailing along the forbidden prize. Watching Raymond’s face, worried that he might do something wrong, Peter ringed the tight hole with one finger. Raymond arched up, his legs shifting to Peter’s shoulders. Peter eased in past the tight muscle, touched smooth interior muscle, and was rewarded with Raymond’s gasp of pure pleasure.

Still keeping his eyes on Raymond’s round face, Peter removed his finger. Spreading more oil on his cock, he moved forward, nudging the small entrance. Raymond’s golden eyes opened and he smiled, one hand reaching awkwardly over to touch Peter’s lips.

“Go on,” he ordered gently. “I want you.”

The heat in the man’s voice transferred directly into Peter’s blood and he gave into it, forgetting where he was, what he was, forgetting the rest of both worlds. In one move, he leaned over, sealed his lips over Raymond’s and shoved into the willing body. Raymond broke the kiss, throwing his head back with a cry of pain and delight. Peter held still, fighting against the urge to drive, the need to bury himself in the hot, slick passage. His hands went under Raymond’s ass, pushing him back onto his shoulders. He pulled back slowly, pushed forward, mesmerized at the sight of his cock sliding into the fair skinned ass. Under him Raymond shifted, pulling Peter’s cock deeper. Peter gave into his lust, his curiosity, his need. He started driving, revealing in the near-painful tightness, in the strong pull of tight muscles, in the strength of the hands on his arms. 

Raymond smiled up at him, a wicked smile that let Peter know who was in control. The heavy body pressed down, meeting each thrust, begging, encouraging. It was too much. Peter thrust hard and deep, body freezing as he pumped his seed into the other man, flooding the passage with heat to match its own.

The stiffness in his arms faded with the stiffness in his cock. Peter sagged down, cock slipping free as he lay, exhausted on Raymond’s chest. With a groan, Raymond slid out from under him, rolling them side by side. It seemed to Peter they lay entwined for a long time but when he dared look over at Magna’s chair, she was still there, still writhing in pleasure, still feeding.

“Roll over, Peter,” Raymond whispered into his ear, kissing it at the same time.

Peter obeyed, only then feeling Raymond’s still swollen cock prodding his leg. He wondered vaguely if now was the time his curiosity would have gotten him into too much - but at the same time the heat began to seep back into his cooling blood. He tensed though as Raymond wrapped an arm around his waist and hoisted him up to shove a pillow under his hips. 

Soft kisses fell along his back, trailed down his spine. “Trust me, Peter. I know who you are not.”

The husky voice lulled his fears. He looked over his shoulder, realized that Raymond had them positioned so Magna couldn’t see exactly what was being done. Warm oil trickled down his ass, a gentle hand rubbing. He didn’t tense this time, trusting Raymond. He slid up onto the pillow, not having the energy to come to his knees.

Fingers began to stroke along his ass, and a heavy cock lay along the cleft, settled and began to slid. Peter knew what was happening. From Magna’s view it would seem that Raymond was buried in his partner’s body. But Peter wasn’t afraid of his lust and curiosity anymore. Struggling a little, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to convey with a look what he would have asked for if he could have. Raymond’s eyes widened and he smiled, leaned forward, again kissing along Peter’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Peter,” he whispered. “But it would not be well this time. I will not leave you unfulfilled.”

And a finger slipped into his ass, startling him with it’s pressure. He gasped, fighting his immediate reaction to pull away. Raymond’s steady glide continued. Peter could feel his hands, could tell that Raymond had a tight hold on his own cock even as he used the other hand to slowly please Peter. The blunt finger in his body twisted, and the discomfort vanished, replaced by more heat in his already warmed body, his cock swelled slightly, giving all it had. Raymond’s pace picked up and more pressure pushed against his ass. The two fingers scissored and pumped. Blinding waves took Peter and he came again, pumping into the silk. Behind him Raymond shoved his fingers in as far as he could and came, calling Peter’s name; hot fluid spilled down Peter’s ass. 

Again there was stillness, then Raymond moved, falling to his side next to Peter, breathing hard, sweat running down his sides. Peter rolled over, laying close but with only his arm draped over the broad chest, giving them room to cool down. Pleasure still echoed along Peter’s nerves. If he had had voice he would have been babbling thanks. As it was, he pushed up on one elbow, smiled down at his companion then kissed him lightly on the nose.

“You are welcome, Peter,” Raymond said quietly. 

The sound of a voice brought reality back too quickly. They both sat up, looking toward their keeper. Magna was standing, chanting. Raymond and Peter cast quick nervous glances at each other. Before either could move there was a bright light. When it faded, Peter was no longer on the bed.

* * * * * *

Ray sat the transfer device next to the packs. On the other side in Ecto’s rack was the destabilizer Egon had decided they would need to take on a sorceress in her own world. It had been almost thirty five hours since they had put their plan into work, two hours over the normal lag between dimensional rips. No one would voice their fear, that there would be no more occurrences.

The smell of coffee came from the kitchen. Stretching and yawning, Ray headed in that direction. Janine had forced them all to sleep by threatening to turn off the main power. Though the rest had been short Ray admitted to feeling better. Egon and he had both gotten up after four hours, going to the lab to finish the recalibration on the devices. Peter had risen only a little later, deciding to watch TV. Only Winston had slept the entire six hours, a talent he attributed to having been in the Army and learning to sleep anywhere and when.

Peter was at the stove; Janine was pouring the coffee. The excitement had given way to impatient waiting. Still, Peter smiled at them when he served up the bacon. 

“Thanks Peter,” Winston said cheerfully. “At least that’s one thing you and our Peter don’t share - a hate of morning.”

Peter laughed silently. Pointing to the sunlit window he nodded, indicating his like of mornings.

“Say,” Janine came over with the coffee and sat down with them. “How come Peter didn’t know this wasn’t his world right away?”

Ray looked over at Peter. The taller man waved, again trusting him to tell the story. “My guess would be that after being grabbed from one world, then subjected to all kind of magic he at first thought this was just another trick of the sorceress.”

Sitting down with his own plate, Peter confirmed Ray’s theory. Janine looked thoughtful as she chewed her toast - and Ray knew immediately what her next question was going to be.

“So, what gave it away?”

Ray could feel the blush warm his cheeks. Despite Peter’s early playful kiss, he didn’t think the other’s suspected Peter’s situation in the other world. A hand touched his arm and he looked up into those laughing green eyes again. This time he had not idea of what to say for either of them.

“Uh.. Peter...”

Claxons rang through the old brick firehouse. Everyone was on their feet instantly, hitting the pole. Janine took the stairs, grabbing the phone as they slipped into their uniforms. They dove in to Ecto, Ray held the back door open waiting for Janine to give them the location. But instead of handing him the slip of paper she climbed in next to him and Peter.

“Janine,” Egon said, even as Winston revved the motor. “I’m not certain...”

“Shut up, Spengler,” she barked. “I’ll wait in Ecto, I promise but I want to be there when this ends.”

The garage doors swung open; Winston hit the gas and they sped into the night, into whatever future they could make for two different worlds.

* * * * * *

He was next to the bed, Raymond staring down at him in surprise. Something jingled, Peter looked down; there was a thin silver chain running between his wrists; another ran from the center of that to a tight leather collar; the other end of which hooked him firmly to the bed. Magna had a least had the courtesy to give him a covering strap. 

“Magna?” Raymond questioned very carefully.

She floated over to them, glowing with the power surge they had given her. Leaning over, she kissed Peter gently on the forehead.

“Ah, Raymond, we mustn’t have Peter wandering off again.” Kissing Raymond, she moved toward the door, her voice carrying coldly back. “And neither will you, Raymond, since I would kill him if you were to go anywhere.” She closed the door behind her but didn’t bother to lock it.

Peter glanced fearfully up at Raymond. This was not in his plans. He wanted to talk, wanted to be reassured that Raymond would continue. When the amber eyes met his, he knew his fear had come to pass. Despite his promise, under these circumstance, Raymond would not leave, not if it meant Peter’s life. And Peter had no voice to tell him that it did mean his life if they didn’t get out of here soon.

He reached out, grabbed Raymond’s hand and pointed firmly to the door. Raymond refused to met his gaze, moved his hand away. Whimpering in desperation, Peter leaned hard on the chains, trying to pull them from the solid wood. The thin, fine metal cut into his skin, bringing dark blood to color the silver. Hands took his, pulled them away from the chain.

“Stop, Peter,” Raymond said quietly. “You will only bring yourself harm.”

Peter grabbed him by both arms, again pointed toward the door. Raymond shook his head.

“No. The instant I’m gone, she will come back and kill you.” He looked at Peter with a level, defeated gaze. “We will have another chance.”

Going up to his knees, Peter tried begging, folding his hands in front of him. Raymond refused to acknowledge him. Peter’s helplessness turned to anger. Grabbing Raymond, he pulled him roughly off the bed, slamming him into the marble floor. Peter twisted, straddling the man’s hips and grabbing his shoulders. Arguments screaming in his mind Peter pounded him against the floor. Raymond stiffened but offered no resistance. Stubbornness glinted in his eyes as he stared up at Peter.

Peter sat back, thinking furiously. He pointed at himself, then to Raymond, then at the closed door. He made a crossing motion with his hands. Raymond’s gaze dropped.

“We will get you and my Peter back,” Raymond said quietly. “But I will not risk your death to do it.”

Peter shook him, violently swept his hand around the room. He knew with complete certainty that he couldn’t be kept a secret from Magna much longer, he had to make Raymond understand that. But one look into the other’s expression and he knew that Raymond did realize it, but was willing to gamble on another chance before it was too late.

Peter’s emotions transformed again from anger to defeated depression. With a push against the body under him, he spun away, put his back to Raymond and brought his knees up. He was suddenly cold and tried, and more frustrated than he’d ever been. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he put his head on his knees and let angry tears fall. A hand touched his shoulder and he struck out, knocking Raymond away.

“Peter, please,” Raymond said softly. “I’m sorry. I would do anything to help you get home, anything but risk your life.”

Again the hand touched him. “Please, you have trusted me this far, trust me to know what is best.”

When Raymond lay an arm around his shoulders, he looked up. Raymond took a sharp breath at what he saw in Peter’s eyes.

“No,” he whispered. “You can’t give up. Would it be so bad to stay here a little longer?”

Peter took a deep breath, got his emotions back under control. Once more he gestured around, between the two of them, toward the door. Leaning forward he kissed Raymond hard, then pulled back and with grim slowness, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He held the amber gaze and shook his head. Slowly, a different kind of determination filled Raymond’s expression.

“You are right,” Raymond admitted slowly. “You’re not my love. None of this is as it should be.”

But instead of leaving, as Peter kept gesturing for him to do, Raymond sprang off the bed and began to search the room. Peter’s impatience started building. Magna had only taken a little while before chanting last time. He glanced up when Raymond knelt in front of him; he was holding up a lit silver candlestick. As Peter watched, he removed the flaming candle and stuck it to the cold marble floor.

“Silver is soft,” Raymond said. “Magna will not expect us to free you. Hold the chain over the flame.”

Not expecting very much from the attempt, Peter did as told, for now holding on to his impatience. Long minutes passed. 

“Now,” Raymond ordered suddenly. “Stretch the chain on the floor, tight as you can.”

Peter again did as told. Raymond struck the chain hard with the candlestick - and it flattened a little. Peter’s hope took a leap up. Another strike and it gave a little more. Twice more Peter held the chain in the hot flame, four strikes, then two more. Still, the chain held.

Peter’s hope was dying with the fast spent minutes. He withdrew his hands, shook his head. Raymond grabbed his wrist.

“Please, Peter,” he pleaded. “Once more.”

With a deep breath Peter relented. Two more hard blows and nothing. Peter pulled his hands away. 

“I have another idea,” Raymond declared.

But Peter only grabbed his arm, and pointed toward the door. His gesture was ignored. He watched in confusion as Raymond lifted one corner of the bed.

“Wrap the chain around the leg” he groaned.

Peter did, still confused. The bed came down with a thump. Raymond sat down next to him.

“It will hurt,” he warned. “But if you pull against this, I think the chain will give way.”

At this point Peter wasn’t concerned with a little pain, he wanted out! With an effort that surprised both of them, Peter leaned against the chains, jerked once, twice - and landed hard on his butt when the connection gave way. Raymond started to let out a cheer but Peter grabbed his arm and they ran for the door.

It was Peter who took control now, leading them quietly down the hall to the door into Magna’s domain. Opening the door, the first thing to met his eyes was the glass wall slowly clearing. He smiled over his shoulder at Raymond, giving a thumbs up sign. Raymond stared blankly at the sign but didn’t miss the excitement Peter knew was written across his face. He could feel the adrenaline pumping. With a deep breath he threw open the door and sprinted for the portal.

* * * * * *

It was the worst possible location. The museum had been new and solidly built, the same for the parking garage. They had been lucky in the alley. Now, the help offered by those three locations was overshadowed by the crumbling walls and rotten wood of the tenement. People were running out of the building, some carrying children, some carrying goods. Ray opened the side of the old ambulance closest to the building, staring up as people climbed unsteadily down firestairs barely usable. Rust rained into the filthy alley. Looking further up, he could see the glow of power coming from the roof. Already pieces of the ledge were starting to fall off.

The team exchanged a quick look, each knowing the dangers. There was nothing to do about it. They started for the door. A man coming out grabbed Winston by the arm.

“Hey bro, fuck it. Ain’t nothing here worth saving,” he said.

Winston looked up, then glanced at Ray and Peter. “Yeah, but somewhere there is.”

“Be careful!” Janine’s shout was the last thing they heard.

In five years of busting they had been in magnificent homes, huge warehouses, docked freighters and structures that were barely standing. Ray could never remember a place as bad as this one. Things crunched under his feet. He glanced down into garbage, roaches and bloody needles. Ahead of him, Winston was cursing loudly, dodging falling, graffiti covered plaster. Egon was tight lipped, staring only at his PKE meter and refusing to acknowledge the rest. There was a squeak from behind him and he turned in time to see Peter kick a rat out of his way. 

The wide eyes meet his, filled with question and disappointment. Ray wanted to make excuses, wanted to tell Peter to remember the beauty he had seen in the park and tall buildings, but in the end he could only look away in sorrow over an imperfect world. A hand tightened on his arm, telling him it was understood. Before he could reply the first serious tremor hit. They bounced off the walls surrounding the narrow hall, pressed ahead without slowing.

They hit the first set of stairs, were half-way up the second when another wave of energy rocked the building. They grabbed for the crumbling railing, and it came away from the wall with a snap. Ray slipped, going to his knees on the rough wood. He heard Winston give a yell of surprise and pain. He glanced up in time to see Peter stop Egon’s fall by grabbing him around the waist. The tall blond went white as the move jarred his ribs. Ahead of them, too far for Peter to have caught Winston was spreadeagle against the wall, cast clutched tight to his chest. There was a section of cracked plaster board just behind him and with a wince Ray realized that he must have hit the wall with his broken arm.

“Winston?” he asked urgently.

Dazed brown eyes looked up and Winston blinked at him. The bigger man took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said, expression clearing but not completely. “I’m okay.”

Peter and Egon closed with them. Peter had Egon’s arm pulled across his shoulders. Egon frowned at them all.

“We have to hurry,” he said tightly.

Ray took Winston’s arm, put it in the same position that Peter had Egon’s. Luck smiled slyly at them; the tremors were smaller, and they made the roof with only a little more effort. The gambler’s lady vanished again as the door to the upper level opened. The roof rolled under them in waves, spilling all four out onto the hot, sticky tarpaper. Peter and Ray managed to break the falls of the other two. Once they had their feet under them again, they stared up at the latest rip.

It was, as Egon had estimated, larger than the last one, covering one entire side of the roof, stretching from the rooftop forty feet up. Egon held the PKE meter out in front of him and began to scan for the real hole. Twice he turned 360 degrees, frowning more and more deeply.

“Egon?” Ray shouted.

The building shook like a wet dog, shudders running from roof to foundation. Ray took a step toward the tall scientist - and one leg sank into the old wood roof. He let out a yell of mostly surprise, through under it was pain that shot up his thigh. All three turned to help him.

Waving at Egon, he yelled, “Keep scanning. Peter and Winston have me!”

Winston knelt, punching and kicking the broken wood away from his leg while Peter held tight onto him. Winston looked up at Peter.

“On thre...” He stopped, staring down at his hand; blood covered his glove. “Ray?”

“It’s a scratch,” he lied quickly.

Winston didn’t believe him, but there was nothing to do about it. “On three, pull,” Winston ordered.

With a groan of pain and effort, Ray pulled his leg free. Leaning on Peter, he let the strong arms hold him up as he fought to get his legs steady. Winston knelt to examine the gash that was causing blood to color his jumpsuit crimson. Ray batted his hand away.

“It’ll be okay.” Fighting away from both Winston and Peter’s concerned gazes. “Egon? We’re running out of building.”

“There.” Egon pointed to one edge of the building. “Three meters in front of the ledge.”

“All right!” Winston cheered. “Let’s go stop this thing before something comes through to make life more interesting.”

Ray surveyed the team. Winston’s adrenaline had overridden his earlier shock but his arm was still tucked tightly against his chest and from the slight bent to Egon’s stance it was obvious his ribs were still pounding from the near fall. For himself, his leg was throbbing with each heartbeat and he could feel the hot blood running into his boot. Only Peter looked fit and ready.

“We’re not in the best condition to undertake a battle with...” he started.

Peter frowned. With a gentle shove, he propelled Ray toward Winston, charged passed Egon and stopped just short of the described area. Hoisting the gun, he smiled at them and waved. There was a flash of light as he stepped through. They all took a single glance at each other and followed him.

* * * * * * 

Peter heard the reassuring sound of Raymond’s footsteps close behind his. Magna surged to her feet, letting out an inhuman scream. The glass was perfectly clear now, showing an old rooftop somewhere in New York. Magna lunged to stop him. Peter shouldered into her, knocking the wind and voice out of her chant. From the corner of his eye, he saw Raymond staring in amazement at the portal. Peter started to lunge through.

“No! Peter, stop!”

His feet slid to a halt even before he’d completely registered the voice. After five years as a Ghostbuster, he knew when Egon’s tone meant disaster if not listened to. He turned, catching Raymond as the other man slammed into him at the abrupt stop. Standing against the opposite wall were the guys, armed and ready. Magna was stunned into silence by the unexpected invasion. For one long second the tableau held, then Magna screamed and chanted four words. 

The glass turned smoky black and the darkness exploded outward. Peter hit the floor, taking Raymond with him, offering protection against the flying shards of crystal. Nothing solid followed the explosion. There was hot wind and from somewhere far too close a roar of anger. Not sure what to do, knowing the team would be drawing down on whatever the hell Magna had conjured, Peter stayed where he was, holding a protesting Raymond down.

“Winston, Peter! Cover them!” Egon ordered with surprising calm. “Ray, destabilizer on the sorceress!”

“Hey, Peter,” Winston yelled over the suddenly engaged battle. “I like your new look.”

“I believe you could use a hair cut though,” Egon’s joke didn’t completely cover the worry in his tone. 

Not being able to answer, Peter only gave them a quick wave. He saw Ray stow his thrower with one hand and grab the destabilizer with the other. But Magna was chanting again. A movement in the peripheral of his vision made Peter turn. A claw swept down at him, he ducked, screaming silently. The whine of protons rang over his head and the creature roared, in anger.

Cautiously glancing up, Peter saw the creature had been knocked away. The green destabilizer ray lanced out toward Magna, but she dodged, taking to the air as one chant ended, immediately starting another round of spellcasting. At the same time, the creature changed targets, turning on Winston and Peter. 

“Peter?” Raymond whispered.

Peter glanced down, saw that Raymond was not looking at him but rather at the figure in the blue jumpsuit, competently working the thrower. Shaking one bare shoulder, Peter gained Raymond’s attention. With a quick nod he indicated that they should get out of the line of fighting. Raymond nodded. Keeping low they ran for a row of free standing bookshelves in front of the walled bookshelves. 

Across the room, the creature had closed to within striking distance, a tentacle whipped out, aiming for Winston. He dodged back, having trouble holding his thrower with one hand. Peter stepped up next to him, adding his fire to the other beam. The beast roared and the tentacle withdrew. Other than making it mad, the beams seemed to have no effect. From his hiding place, Peter frowned, only now seeing the cast on Winston’s arm, the pale stiffness in Egon’s movement and the frightening blood staining Ray’s leg. His team was in trouble and there was nothing he could do. It was up to Ray and Egon. They could not stop the creature - they had to stop Magna

Winston and Peter were at least holding the creature off. But Magna was still chanting and the longer it went on the less Peter liked it. His other two team members were trying to contend with her. Egon’s stream arched toward her, again she dodged it.

“Go left, Egon,” Ray ordered.

Egon nodded seeing his plan. Wincing as the weapon jammed against his ribs, he braced and fired. Ray opened up at the same time. Magna dodged away from Egon’s beam, and was hit squarely by Ray’s.

“Now, Egon! Trap!” Ray yelled. His yell turned into a yelp as she started flying backward. A trap sailed out but he was drug away from it, straight toward the creature. Worse yet, she stopped chanting.

With a roar of triumph she pointed at Egon and blue lightening leapt from her fingers. Peter desperately wanted to yell a warning, but could only watch in silence as Egon hit the floor and rolled away, his beam shutting off. Power sizzled past the tall scientist, leaving a smoking hole in the marble where he’d been. Ray still held the destabilizer on her but without Egon’s proton stream, he couldn’t drag her into the trap. 

“Winston?” Ray yelled.

Peter glanced to the other fight. Winston and Peter were playing tag with the oversized menace. Frustration built as it had in the other room earlier - he had to do something! He stood up, only to be jerked back down by Raymond. He glared at the other man, expecting to be told to stay down. Instead, Raymond was also glancing frantically around the room.

“There must be something we can do to assist them,” he said. 

Nodding, Peter closed his eyes against the distraction of the battle, thought about other fights, other sorceress, other encounters. They were missing something, something obvious. Nothing came, his thoughts too clouded with worry. When he opened his eyes it was to see his double knocked sideways by a tentacle. 

A swath of blue death slammed the wall behind their hiding place, throwing them both to the ground. Peter sat back up, his head ringing. He was startled when Raymond groaned. Peter lay his hand on Raymond’s two, asking silently.

“I’m well, for now,” Raymond answered. He peeked over the edge of the smoking books. “No!”

The tentacle had wrapped around one of Peter’s legs, and was starting to drag him toward the monster’s gapping mouth. Despite Peter trying to stop him, Raymond bolted up. But Winston was there before him, firing at the tentacle. With a roar the creature released Peter, whirled toward Winston. Peter fired on it, drawing it away. Raymond stopped, dropped back next to Peter.

From overhead came a high, shrill laugh. Magna zipped down, taunting the team. 

“You cannot destroy me! I will have the pleasure of making you all suffer before I kill you.”

Egon was her target. Before she could fire, his proton stream lanced out, catching her. She screamed in anger, and Ray’s beam caught her at the same time. Peter held his breath, watching them valiantly start to drag her down. For three long heartbeats it looked as if they would trap her. Then another bolt of blue exploded from her directly downward, destroying the trap.

Peter pounded on the wall next to him. Raymond reached out and stopped him. Peter looked down but Raymond was not looking at him, he was staring at the opposite wall, at the glass gateway. It was now a deep, flowing black void. Another streak of power arched toward Ray and Egon - and the black swirling paused, faded a little.

It was right in front of them! Peter came to his feet, tried to yell, nothing came out. He felt Raymond grab for him but he was moving, sprinting toward the glass wall, snatching a heavy brass lamp off a table as he went. To his side the beast broke off it’s attack, spinning toward him. From overhead there was a shriek of hate.

“How dare you!”

He raised the lamp - and something slammed into his back. Light filled the room, replacing the air and his breath. Peter was laying face down, under something heavy, his skin and head tingling with the nearness of the magical explosion; the lamp lay useless a few feet away. In a flash he realized that Raymond was on top of him, unmoving. 

He looked up into eyes exactly like his. His double was staring at them, horror, anger and understanding coloring the jade. This world’s Peter turned, bringing his thrower to bear on the smoky wall. Magna screamed another warning - but it was lost in the roar of protons as Peter’s ray struck the wall. Peter rolled out from under Raymond, then wrapped himself around the other man, keeping them both safe from whatever effect there would be.

* * * * * * 

Ray watched Peter roll away with this world’s Raymond, saw the other Peter turn his thrower on the wall. 

“Yes! Hang on to something!” he yelled in warning.

The red-gold beam hit the wall - and the world imploded! Everything started moving toward the sudden open black void. The creature was the first to go, screaming in rage; chairs, tables, books filled the air. The wind swept Ray’s feet out from under him and he landed with a thump, pain flamed up his leg from the wound nearly forgotten under the adrenaline of the fight. Then it was over, as suddenly as it began the suction faded, leaving only silence, broken with a high, sharp laugh.

Gaining their feet, the three Ghostbusters and Peter, turned to face Magna. She was standing in front of the shattered glass, the blue sky highlighting the pale beauty of her skin, the sun shining in on her silver hair, mocking them with a halo effect. 

“So,” she purred softly. “You have discovered my little secret. And so you have destroyed my effort here.”

“Lady, if I were you I’d just stand very still,” Winston warned. Egon had brought out his meter.

Under her breath, she started to chant. Three throwers, and destabilizer ray lanced out, hitting her square. With hands starting to get numb, Ray reached for his belt and tossed out a trap. But something went wrong with Magna’s chant. She began to glow, beauty fading fast into real form, horned and scaled. They watched in horrified fascination.

“She’s over extended!” Egon suddenly yelled. “These readings are like those in the parking garage! It will blow.”

To Ray it seemed that the whole situation were very far away. His vision started to fade and he sagged toward the floor, only to find himself being picked up and tossed over a strong, nude shoulder. There was the feeling of movement, the sound of shouts and running, the feel of too hot sun on his back. The world exploded, sound pounding so strong that even his vague hearing rang from it. The person carrying him hit the ground first, jarring him despite the best attempt at a soft landing. Blinking against the glowing yellow sun and the dark spots playing in his vision, Ray looked up. A familiar face appeared above him.

“Peter?” he questioned.

Strong arms held him tight and close, but there was no answer, which confused him. Peter smiled down at him, then glanced, worried toward something else. Fighting the darkness that was threatening, Ray rolled his head in that direction. Peter, the one in jumpsuit and pack, was cradling a nude Raymond, rocking slowly, tears sparkled on his cheeks. Ray flinched away from the sight, looking up at his Peter instead for reassurance. The last thing he saw were the tears in Peter’s green eyes.

* * * * * * 

“Come on, Ray,” a joking voice called. “Beauty sleep is one thing but this is ridiculous.”

Ray waited for light and sight to catch up with sound. Sound. Peter’s voice. His eyes snapped open to find Peter Venkman, staring down at him from only a few inches away. 

“Peter?” he whispered, almost afraid of the answer. “Is it really you?”

“Why? Were you expecting someone else?” Peter said calmly.

It was all Ray needed to forget the pain echoing along his leg, the dizziness that made him lightheaded and the faraway sorrow that he could feel. He threw his arms around the other man, hanging on as hard as he could. Tears came to his eyes. 

“Peter...”

Peter lifted him off the bed into a secure hug. “Hey, it’s over buddy. We made it.”

“But the other Ray... I saw...”

Peter’s smile didn’t fade and that simple thing immediately made Ray feel better. Before Peter could answer, another familiar voice took over for him.

“They are both alive and very well, thanks to the Ghostbusters.”

Ray’s eyes widened as he looked over Peter’s shoulder to find his own face and his temporary partner staring back from the doorway.

“It was shock,” Peter explained. “Raymond wasn’t breathing but with a little CPR he’s as good as new.”

“This is great!” Ray exclaimed.

Then Ray noticed the darkness outside, the adobe walls surrounding him, the soft feather bed and silk sheets under him.

“Why are we still here?” he demanded. Smiling at Peter, he said, “I’d have thought you’d have said, “Can we go home now?” before now.”

Another thought struck him and he charged on before Peter could get a word in. “What’s wrong? Where are Egon and Winston? Did something happen to the transfer device? Can’t we get...”

“He talks more than you do,” Raymond observed casually.

That silenced Ray long enough for Peter to pick up. “Yes, he does, sometimes he even rambles.” Sitting back a little, he counted off on his fingers. “One, everyone is fine. Two, the device is fine. Three, the people from the village are discussing what to do. Egon and Winston went to talk to them about the options. And four, since some people were unconscious this seemed a good place to rest before going home.”

“Oh,” Ray said meekly.

To his surprise the other Peter made several gestures, none of which he recognized. But his double obviously did. Raymond smiled.

“Peter and I were on our way to discover what the others wish to do.” He patted the real Peter on the shoulder, smiling at him. “My companion says to take good care of this one while we are gone.”

Peter smiled. “I will.”

As they left, it dawned on him that Peter was still wearing only the modified jockstrap. Remembering a hot kiss on a rooftop a lifetime ago, he blushed darkly.

* * * * * *

Peter watched the blush creep up Ray’s face, and his suspicion was confirmed. Egon and Winston had admitted not knowing what had tipped Ray to Peter’s switch. Knowing what he did about this world’s reality Peter had a good idea.

Touching Ray’s hand, he asked, “How do you feel?” 

Ray answered seriously, “My leg hurts.”

“It should, you ripped a pretty good hole in it.” Realizing he was being more serious than he wanted to be, Peter added, “Fortunately, this world’s Raymond makes some wicked herbal tea. You’re bandaged and the bleeding stopped. Though once we get you home it’s right to the hospital.”

Ray’s amber eyes refused to connect with his and a uncomfortable silence filled the room. But inside Peter only smiled. He knew what Ray was worried about, also knew how to easily fix it.

“Go ahead, Ray,” he encouraged gently. “You know you want to ask.”

The curious eyes finally met his. “Ask what?” Ray said, feigning ignorance.

“Have I ever thought of you like that?” Peter answered honestly. “Like this world’s Peter feels for his Raymond.”

To his surprise, Ray looked up at him and smiled confidently. “I know you love me, Peter.”

They smiled at each other. Then Ray tried to swing his feet off the bed. 

“Hey, hey,” Peter chastised. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Outside,” Ray said firmly. “I want to get a look at he constellations, see if I can figure out...”

“Okay, okay,” Peter said, wrapping the sheet around his friend’s shoulders then holding it in place with his arm. “but only if we do it slowly.”

They moved out the open double doors into the small patio. The night was beautiful, the wind cool, the stars sparkling like glitter on velvet. Ray stretched carefully, leaning on Peter. Peter smiled, liking the feeling, soaking in the love. 

“Ray?” he whispered. “What about the other part of this? This Raymond and Peter are sexually involved.”

Ray sighed, looked up at him. He didn’t look much like this world’s Raymond at that moment. Raymond had seen too much, survived too much to ever have that innocence in his eyes. Peter’s heart melted at the love in the starlight filled eyes.

“Are you attracted to me?” Ray asked bluntly.

Their friendship demanded an honest answer. Peter took a deep breath. “I was curious. Raymond satisfied it. I enjoyed it. But you and me... I don’t think so.”

Surprise didn’t come close to describing his reaction when Ray said, “Well, there is one way to find out.”

The younger man closed the distance, taking Peter in a loose hold around the waist. Peter leaned in - and very gently, very lightly kissed Ray. He broke the kiss just as slowly, just as gently, leaned back and looked down. Ray’s eyes were closed, and a thoughtful expression filled his face. After a minute he looked up, eyes bright. They stared at each other in silence.

Ray giggled. Peter’s stared at him, feeling the smile start slowly across his own face. 

“What are you laughing about?” he demanded.

That only made Ray laugh harder. Then Peter started chuckling, the sound gradually building. They both had their answer. Peter had had his curiosity satisfied and Ray knew neither of them wanted or needed their relationship to change. What they had was deep and everlasting, in ways most people would never understand, more deeply than many people would ever believe.

Egon found them a few minutes later, both doubled over from laughter.

* * * * * * 

“Are you sure?” Ray asked for the third time.

“Yes,” Raymond said patiently, for the third time. “We are all very sure. This is a good place. There will be more caravans coming here now that Magna is gone. We do not belong in your world. And we have been gone too long from our homes to return.”

Outside in the garden Ray could see the small crowd of villagers. In the pre-dawn darkness they had gathered to say good-bye to the men that had freed them. The small, beautiful woman that Peter had introduced as Psage stood just behind Raymond. There was awkward silence, no one sure how to start the rounds of good-bye. 

Psage frowned, stepped forward and took Egon and Winston by the arm. “The others would like to say good-bye.” 

“We have already...”

Winston poked Egon in the ribs, inclining his head toward their two teammates and doubles. “Egon, I think the rest of the group would like to say good-bye now.” 

Clearing his throat, Egon told Psage, “We wouldn’t want to be rude, Psage. Please, lead the way.”

Even after they had stepped out the unease remained. Then Peter, the silent version, stepped forward. Raymond followed after him, ready to translate. Ray smiled at him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “We understand each other.”

Peter stepped close, green eyes glowing in the candlelight. Everything that needed to be said was in his expression. Ray took him in a tight hug, and lay a light kiss to his cheek. The glow of the fast rising sun was nothing compared to the smile Peter wore when they moved apart. He touched his chest, then Ray’s.

Ray had to force the words from his suddenly tight throat. “You’re welcome. And thank you too.”

Ray glanced toward the mirror images standing nearby. He let himself lean on Peter and limped toward the door. “Let’s go join the others.”

* * * * * *

Peter watched them leave. He had seen the gentle kiss Ray had given as a good-bye. Now, he took this Raymond in a tight hug as well, but the kiss they shared was anything but light and chaste. When they broke apart, surprise lit Raymond’s face.

“Let Peter take care of you once in a while,” Peter said suddenly.

“Only if you also promise that for your Raymond.”

Startled at being caught in his own trap, Peter stared at him a moment, then nodded. “I will.”

There was nothing more to say so they joined the others outside. Psage smiled  
at them as they came out. Moving between them, she took Peter in a loose hug and kissed him lightly.

“Thank you. Now we will find out if children are possible here.”

Raymond and both Peters blushed. Their counterparts laughed. Someone cleared their throat and Peter looked over at  
Egon and Winston standing impatiently behind them. 

“Since there is nothing more for us to do here,” Egon said firmly, starting to shepherd them toward the open area.

There were good-byes between Egon, Winston and the others. Without looking back they moved as one to the patio. Egon took out the transfer device. Ray reached out and stopped him just before he could switch it on.

“You know, we could use a vacation. This place isn’t too bad.”

They other three stared blankly. Barely hiding his smile, Ray asked innocently, “Egon, what time is it?”

“0500,” Egon answered in a puzzled voice.

“Ray?” Winston was sounding exasperated.

“We got here twelve hours ago,” Ray said quietly.

“Oh, my!” Egon said suddenly, losing what color he had regained.

Janine!” Winston said suddenly.

Peter wasn’t sure what had happened but he suddenly had a feeling that his homecoming was going to be very interesting.


End file.
